Picture Perfect
by MissWitchx
Summary: A collection of unrelated stories about a range of characters from the HP fandom. Romantic / Friendship / Familial pairings. Contains fluff, humour, romance, drama and friendship genres. If you'd like one written for you then please review with a pairing suggestion.
1. ColinGabrielle

**A/N: **Hey everyone! So this is going to be a collection of stories of different characters and pairings, just for a bit of fun and to broaden my horizons a bit. These won't all be romantic. Some will be platonic and some familial. Basically, this is going to be a really diverse collection in all aspects, and I hope you like it. :D

Disclaimer for whole collection: I do not own Harry Potter (sigh); it belongs to JKR.

W/C without A/Ns: 493

* * *

><p><span><strong>Picture Perfect<strong>

_Colin/Gabrielle (Friendship)_

Colin stumbled through the crowds, his camera pressed to his eye the entire time for fear that he'd miss something if he lowered it for even a second. He'd quickly learned that events at Hogwarts – especially ones where Harry Potter was involved – were golden opportunities for stellar pictures.

As he reached the lower deck, Colin bumped into someone.

"Do you mind? Per'aps you would see where you're go-eeng eef zat infernal camera was not een front of your face ze 'ole time!"

Colin gasped, immediately recognizing the voice of the Beauxbatons Champion.

"I'm so sorry!" he babbled, pivoting on the spot but still not lowering his camera. Upon reflex, his finger pressed the shutter.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" A small voice asked.

"Huh?" Colin finally lowered the camera.

"What are you do-eeng?" Fleur asked as she crouched and hugged Gabrielle, who was rubbing her eyes in an attempt to re-adjust after the camera flash. A cascade of shimmering silver-blonde hair fell gently around her back.

"Woah," Colin said absently as he looked down at his Muggle camera's picture log. They were un-moving, but that didn't make the accidental image any less spectacular.

Fleur must have been in the process of drying Gabrielle's hair with a hot-air charm, though it was impossible to tell that this was the case in the picture. Gabrielle's face was bowed and central in the bottom of the frame; her eyes closed and her hair blowing outwards in all directions, the ends cropped off at all sides. The young girl looked angelic, mysterious and ethereal. The way the blonde locks rippled in the magical breeze only enhanced the natural and spontaneous effect of the image.

"That's it!" Colin gasped. All these years he'd been setting up his photos; either positioning himself to get a particular angle or moving his subjects according to where the light was. Whilst the resultant pictures were very good, they lacked that special quality that this one had.

He glanced at a shy-looking Gabrielle.

"Er…" He began speaking, but realised that the girl wasn't fluent in English, and he knew very little French. "Would you mind if I took some more pictures of you?" he asked excitedly, gesturing to his camera and at Gabrielle.

"Quoi?" she frowned.

Colin gestured to his camera again hopefully, but Gabrielle ended up misunderstanding. She took it from him and snapped Colin's picture, giggling when she saw his baffled face afterwards.

She handed the camera back and struck a pose, indicating that it was his turn to take her picture.

"Not exactly what I had in mind but okay," Colin held up the camera, waiting until Gabrielle grew impatient and dropped her stance before pressing the shutter. This time Gabrielle was caught in the middle of turning, her eyes gazing off into the distance and her hair curved across her front in a blonde sheet as she moved.

"C'est parfait!" He grinned.

"Merci," Gabrielle beamed back, doing a little curtsey.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Completely new pairing for me but I quite like how it turned out. Please let me know what you thought :D

See you for the next story. If you'd like a story written for you please review with a pairing I can work with!

**This first one was written for:** Birthday comp [November - Characters - Write about Colin]; Globetrotter Drabble comp [Amsterdam - Write about artistic inspiration]; Pairing Diversity challenge [picture perfect]; Prompt Mania challenge [random - hair]


	2. BaronHelena

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the reviews on the first story. As for the suggestions, they are great and I promise I'll get round to them on the fourth entry, but this and the next one are reserved for plot bunnies that sprung to mind, so please excuse the delay to your input.

Okay, you can go ahead and read now. Enjoy! :)

**Written for:** **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[translucent]; **Fave House Bootcamp **[blood]; **Hunger Games Trilogy comp **[Characters - Peeta - Unrequited love]; **Birthday comp **[July - flower - literal floating]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Our Blood<strong>

_Bloody Baron/Helena Ravenclaw (Romance)_

Blood. That is usually the first word that comes to mind when a student lays their eyes on me for the first time, or indeed, any time. They are, for the most part, familiar with my moniker, the Bloody Baron, and so accept my appearance for what it is. I'm thankful for the defiant ignorance or intimidation I seem to evoke in the students, for it allows me to live in my own fantasy world in which I can pretend the blood is not hers…

I often spend the majority of the school year rehearsing several different scenarios from which I can claim I got my famed blood-stained attire; however no matter how convincing these theories sound, everything goes to hell when the damned first years arrive.

"Oi, you there, ghost. What happened to you?" one particularly obnoxious child would jeer.

"Oh wow! Were you in a war or something?" another admiring eleven year-old would swoon.

"Nah, I bet he fought dragons," one more would counter.

"Maybe he's the one who almost beheaded that Gryffindor ghost!" cries a fourth.

And there I float, hovering on the spot with all of the situations of bogus reasoning handed to me on a platter. I've always been a Slytherin through-and-through; lying should be like second nature to me. But I can never bring myself to utter a word. It perhaps doesn't bode well when I spend three hundred and sixty three days of the year blocking the truth from my mind. The reality comes rushing back to me without fail every time I am bombarded with questions from a new crop of Snakes.

I am almost driven to the brink of insanity with flashes of my human-life. I remember all too well how quickly the anger rose within me, and how I lashed out at her. I remember her terrible screams and the spray of her blood splattering onto my clothes as my knife plunged inside of her again and again until she lay dead in my arms. The storm in my mind cleared and I couldn't believe what I'd done. The anger fired up within me again with more intensity than I've ever felt before. I couldn't live with myself after killing Helena, so I ended my own life with the same blade.

Many humans are so narrow minded these days. They are driven to the assumptions that ghosts are without the capacity to feel. On the contrary, being the soul of a deceased mortal, all we do is feel, though not in a physical sense. Needless to say, I often work myself up into that same frenzy of anger when I am questioned about my appearance. I slash my blade across the heads of all of the students at the table as I relive that terrible day. It has no effect of course.

I became a ghost so I could be near Helena, hoping every day that she could even look at me, let alone love me as I do for her. I realise after centuries of wishful thinking that we can never be together in this realm, just as we could not in our human lives.

The only consolation I find in this is that we are together in one way, and it is a way that I am able to carry with me forever. A part of Helena and a part of me is bound together on my translucent being, in blood.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, writing a ghost was a first for me. Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated :)

W/C: 572


	3. HarryHermione

**A/N: **As requested by _ObsessivePanda _and _Windwinder, _a fluffy Harmony friendship oneshot :)

This is a CoS missing moment, I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Word count (w/out AN): 1,465

Written for: **Disney character comp** [Timothy Q Mouse: Harry/Hermione friendship]; **Hunger Games comp **["Aim higher in case you fall short."]; **Birthday comp **[May - birthstone - light fanfiction]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[meticulously]; **Prompt Mania challenge **["You cannot be serious!"]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sketches and Essays <strong>

_Harry/Hermione (Friendship)  
><em>

"I give up," Harry said, throwing his quill down and rubbing his eyes.

"Harry, you've barely started," Hermione laughed, dipping her quill into the inkpot she was sharing with her friend.

"I'm sorry, but I think I should get credit for even attempting to take this homework seriously."

Hermione's eyes widened. "_All_ homework should be taken seriously, Harry!" she squeaked indignantly.

"Really?" Harry's eyebrows shot up beneath his messy fringe. "In what universe will drawing an illustration for one of Lockhart's books help me defend myself against Dark magic?"

"_Professor_ Lockhart will have a good reason," Hermione sniffed.

Harry stole a glance at Hermione as she meticulously shaded in part of her drawing, eyebrows knitted and her bushy hair just about masking the faint blush that had spread across her cheeks. He knew she'd just point-blank deny it if he made a comment about her fancying their Defence teacher; she could be so stubborn at times.

"What are you smiling at?" Hermione asked, having caught him looking.

"Oh," Harry cleared his throat. "Just wondering what all the girls seem to see in Lockhart."

"He's smart, talented and handsome," Hermione tried to play it off nonchalantly, but Harry knew her better than that. "I- I mean, so some of the girls in our class have said."

"Mm-hmm," Harry said, smirking slightly.

"I wasn't referring to myself," Hermione said.

"I believe you," Harry said.

"I wasn't!"

"Okay," Harry laughed.

"Stop laughing at me," Hermione was clearly on the verge of losing her temper.

"Oh no, I'm not, I promise," Harry said quickly. "I'm just laughing at my awful drawing," he held his 'masterpiece' up for Hermione to see.

She tilted her head this way and that and squinted as she tried to distinguish the two figures. "Which one is meant to be the hag?"

"Hag? It was supposed to be a werewolf," Harry said, holding up his copy of _Wanderings with Werewolves_.

"Which one's the werewolf, then?"

Harry flipped the parchment and scrutinised it for a while before shrugging and admitting, "No idea."

Hermione burst out laughing, and Harry couldn't help but join in. She had to give credit to him: his work ethic was marginally better than Ron's, who had simply scrawled a stick figure for Lockhart and a squiggly shadow for a ghoul before going to bed.

"Well you never know," Hermione mused. "If you were ever attacked you could just show your assailant that drawing and hope they'd laugh themselves to death."

"Oi," Harry teased. "Let's see yours then."

The smile fell from Hermione's face and she gnawed her lip. "No."

"Oh come on, you've seen mine," Harry said, standing up and leaning across the table in the hope of getting a peek.

"No!" Hermione shielded her parchment.

"Mione, let me see," Harry teased, walking to her side of the table and half-heartedly prying her arms away.

"Harry… stop! That tickles!" Hermione squealed. She wasn't happy that her death-glare was so ineffective when her mouth wanted to smile and laugh. "It's not… finished," she spluttered between giggles.

The homework lay completely forgotten after a while, with the two of them becoming lost in the sound of laughter. It felt nice just to have a moment of just being what they were – children – without thoughts of the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort or the heir of Slytherin praying on their minds. Harry and Hermione were just two typical school children doing their homework, joking with each other and having fun.

Eventually Harry gave up and slumped back into his chair; he knew that if Hermione was determined for him not to see her work then there was no way he'd be able to challenge her. She could be a little scary at times.

"You don't have to wait up for me, you know?" Hermione said when she noticed that Harry had been sat absently tapping his quill against his parchment. "Watch it – you're giving your hag measles!"

"Werewolf," Harry corrected tiredly.

"Right, sorry," Hermione grinned. "Why don't you go to bed?"

"I dunno," Harry pursed his lips. "I have this niggling feeling that I've forgotten something."

Hermione arched her brows. "Is this 'something' more homework, by any chance?"

"Probably."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly Harry, did you and Ron even bother to look at the timetables I drew up for you?"

"'Course we did… we're just horrible at following them," Harry smiled sheepishly at her.

"Harry!" Hermione snapped.

"Sorry, we just aren't as… driven as you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is this you trying to butter me up so I'll write something for you?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm. How much?"

"Well thinking about it now, I haven't actually started my Potions essay yet -"

"What?"

" - And it's due tomorrow."

"You cannot be serious!"

"'Fraid not."

Hermione groaned, but if Harry wasn't mistaken he caught a flicker of excitement flash in her eyes. When she spoke she maintained her bossy and authoritative tone, but Harry could tell her frustration with him wasn't completely genuine. He didn't think this as technically _using_ her, since she wanted to help, but a small part of him couldn't help but feel guilty all the same.

"Well, I'm not writing any more than the introduction, but I'll leave you my notes on the Wiggenweld potion so you can write the rest," she said, bending down and rummaging in her bag.

Harry's jaw dropped when Hermione resurfaced, and she dropped a pile of at least twenty sheets of parchment in front of him, all completely covered in her small print.

"That's… a lot of notes," he swallowed hard.

"I like to be thorough," Hermione shrugged, unrolling a new sheet so she could get started on drafting Harry's essay. "I aim higher in case I fall short."

Harry prodded one of the sheets with his wand like one would go about approaching some kind of dangerous animal. His heart sank; they were double-sided. Suddenly he had inkling that this was some kind of unspoken revenge on Hermione's part for always seeking out her help with homework. Harry couldn't blame her really, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he'd been set-up all the same.

As Hermione scribbled away, Harry occupied himself by adding measles to the rest of his hag/werewolf creature. When that was done his quill hovered over the scratchy sketch of Lockhart. It was painfully tempting to give him the same hideous complexion as the beast, but Harry assumed such a move would ensure docked marks for not portraying the professor as the perfect specimen of a human he thought he was.

But it _would_ be funny to see his reaction if he did give him measles…

As Harry pondered whether he should listen to that mischievous little voice in his head, Hermione pushed her draft across the table to him.

"There you are," she said. "That should be enough."

Harry blinked behind his glasses in disbelief. In less than ten minutes Hermione had written more in length than the majority of Ron's _completed_ essays.

"Blimey, Hermione," he ran a hand through his hair, consequently making it stick up even more than usual. "I thought you said just the introduction."

"Yes, that _is_ the introduction," Hermione smiled at him, and then yawned. "Well I'm off to bed," She re-packed her bag and grabbed her Defence homework off the table before getting up. "Have fun!"

"I will," Harry grunted sarcastically.

"Oh, and remember to give me back my ink tomorrow," Hermione turned back when she reached the staircase to the dormitories.

"I will," Harry repeated.

"And my notes."

"Yeah, no problem."

"And my quill."

"Bloody hell Hermione, yes I'll return all of your things," Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Goodnight."

"Night," Hermione gave him a small wave and headed upstairs, leaving Harry alone in the common room.

A small smile played on Harry's lips as he listened to her light footsteps fade away. He honestly didn't know what he would do without her. He and Hermione were such close friends that he didn't think he needed to tell her that, but she knew how grateful he and Ron were to her… didn't she?

It was then that Harry realised he'd never thanked her for drafting out his introduction, or even for letting him borrow her notes, or anything else for that matter. He felt awful, knowing that Hermione was probably lying awake crying in her room because he'd taken her for granted like that. He made a mental note to apologise and make up for this tomorrow when he returned her things.

This turned out to be a good decision, because two days later Hermione was lying in a hospital bed: Petrified by the Basilisk and dead to the world. For the first time, Harry and Ron were left alone, and in light of recent events at the school, that thought petrified them too, though in a completely different way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! Any comments are greatly appreciated :D


	4. RemusTonks

**A/N: **Again, a pairing I've never written before. I'll get back to the other suggestions I was given when I've got these comp/challenge pieces written. Promise!

I hope you enjoy this one :)

Word count (without AN or epigraph): 1,614

Written for: **One Direction comp **[Moments]; **Quotes for all Occasions comp **[Death: "What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal."-Albert Pike"]; **Hunger Games comp **[Jabberjay: Someone presuming a loved one is in danger and rushing to save them]; **Disney character comp **[Abu: Tonks]; **Birthday comp **[March - Latin - Write about one of the wars]; **Major Arcana challenge **[Tower upright: someone experiencing the death of a loved one]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[forever]; **Prompt mania challenge **[talkative].

* * *

><p><span><strong>Kaleidoscope<strong>

_Remus/Tonks (Romance)_

_..._

_Trembling hands touch skin_

_It makes this harder_

_And the tears stream down my face_

_My love, my heart is breathing for this moment in time_

_I'll find the words to say before you leave me today._

_- _Moments, One Direction

_..._

Tonks fell to the ground, surrounded by a pile of rubble and dust as the giants smashed a hole in the side of the castle. Multi-coloured jets of light flew above her as she lay in a dis-orientated state. Screams rang out from all angles. In her dazed state certain elements of her surroundings brought a memory to the front of her thoughts.

"_This is fantastic!" Remus yelled over the delighted screams of the crowd as fireworks showered the black sky with colour and life. _

"_I said you'd enjoy it didn't I?" Tonks laughed beside him, her bubblegum-pink hair reflecting the colours in the sky like a kaleidoscope. "You're just a stuffy old man too set in his ways to have a little fun."_

_Remus laughed. "Hey, I was quite a trouble-maker in my day."_

"_You were still the sensible one of the group, though," Tonks arched a brow, laughing along with him._

_They continued to watch the display in silence. _

"_Thank you," Remus said as it ended, his green eyes still dancing with flecks of the golden fountain of sparks from the last fireworks. Both he and Tonks knew the hidden meaning behind the words. He understood that she only brought him here to show him that night could be a beautiful thing instead of the embodiment of misery and suffering he thought it to be, thereby showing him that she accepted him for who and what he was. _

"_C'mon, let's go warm up with some Firewhiskey," she gave him a little wink, signalling that she had decoded the hidden message._

"_Oh no, you're talkative enough as it is _without_ alcohol in your system."_

"_Fine. Butterbeer then." Tonks had already linked arms with Remus and was dragging him to the nearest pub before he could even begin to argue. _

Tonks immediately snapped out of her daze when the chaos of the battlefield inadvertently took her back to that moment; the moment she first realised she was in love with Remus. The juxtaposition of the two scenarios was chilling to say the least, but perhaps it had been just the incentive she needed to get off her arse and get back to her mission of actually finding him.

Her body led her around the wreckage of the castle as if completely detached from her mind. She was running, but it didn't feel like it was her feet carrying her. All Tonks could do was think about Remus, hoping he was alive, and about her mother and son, who she practically abandoned to come here. Tonks had somehow ignored the first call that told her it was time to fight. The hour that separated this from the next was like Paranoia City. Her mind became filled with mental images of Remus, other members of the Order or Dumbledore's Army dead or dying. It haunted her, and she knew she'd feel much better helping them by being there herself.

"Take care of Teddy for me," she said to her mum. As she kissed the soft tawny hair on her son's head, Tonks' heart almost convinced her head to stay with him, but she couldn't do it. She felt like a coward or that she was letting the side down by not showing her face at the battle. So here she was now.

She'd covered a fair bit of ground with minimal challenges from Death Eaters, but her luck didn't quite hold out as much as she would have liked. Her dear Aunt Bellatrix cornered her as she neared the Entrance Hall.

"Wotcher, Trixie," Tonks knew adding fuel to her aunt's unhinged fire wasn't going to help, but if she was planning on murdering her anyway, then she may as well have a little fun.

Bellatrix wasted no time in verbal exchanges, only responding with a series of Killing Curses in Tonks' direction. After successfully dodging them, Tonks and Bellatrix engaged in a duel. Tonks internally groaned. Trust her aunt to do this when she had more important things on her mind. Namely, saving her husband.

"_Stupefy_!"

Tonks turned just in time to see the red light shooting towards her. She ducked, consequently putting Bellatrix in its line of fire. It hit her squarely in the chest, and she keeled over amongst the rubble.

_Well, that was easy, _Tonks thought. She needn't continue her frantic search for Remus, for he was already in her line of sight. He hadn't yet noticed her as he was duelling Antonin Dolohov, but Tonks guessed that it had been his Stunning spell that struck Bellatrix. One hand – bright red with blood – was clutching a gaping wound in his stomach in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow. But he was alive. And that's all that mattered.

Tonks barely had time to feel relief, or even raise her wand to attack Dolohov from behind when the dark-haired Death Eater yelled an incantation that she didn't recognise; time suddenly slowed down. Her scream seemed to go on forever as she watched the wound on Remus' abdomen grew larger still. He lifted his head, his eyes travelling from his injury to her eyes as if in slow motion. Then, just as laboriously, he fell to the ground, never once taking his eyes off her. A dull thud signalled the hard impact, and only then did time seem to return to normal pace again. Tonks surged forwards like a horse out of the starting gate of a race, not caring about the danger that surrounded her in that open area.

"Remus," she rolled him onto his back and gently pushed the hair out of his eyes.

"What are you… doing here?" It was clearly taking a lot of energy and effort for him to speak. Tonks knew in her heart of hearts that with the blood loss, he wouldn't have much time left, but while he was still with her she pushed the thought out of her mind.

"Did you really expect me to do what I was told?" she laughed, but there was no humour to the sound. "You know what my family is like for following rules. Just look at my mum for starters."

She didn't even realise she'd been crying until he wiped a tear from her face with a shaking finger, probably smearing her cheek with blood in the process.

"Aw, how sweet," Dolohov loomed over them with a sadistic grin on his face. As soon as Tonks saw him raise his wand, she instinctively moved to shield Remus' body.

"NO!" she yelled, scrunching her eyes shut as the spell hit. The pain was excruciating. It was as if all of the blood drained from her face and worked its way down to escape her body through the fresh wound. Dolohov then fled the scene - presumably to revive Bellatrix -, leaving them to endure slow and painful deaths. Her apparent rescue mission had suddenly turned into a complete disaster.

"Why did you…?" Remus was having trouble keeping his eyes open now.

"Why do you think, you idiot?" Tonks managed a strained smile through the pained grimace. "I love you."

"But… Teddy…"

"I'm doing more good for him by being here," Tonks said, cradling Remus' head. Her tears were falling onto his face and mixing with his own but neither of them cared. "What we've done for him, and the rest of the wizarding world, will be immortal. He'll understand when he's older." It was only now that it fully registered in Tonks' head that she was never going to see her little boy again. Suddenly, the weeping gash in her back wasn't so painful in comparison to that thought. She and Remus were going to die. Together.

It was so hard to think what to say next. Last words were always made out to be such a big deal, and Tonks honestly couldn't find the words to say before Remus left her for good. She could feel her strength dwindling, but she needed to live for this moment, to deliver her last words to the husband she wished she could spend more time with…

With that thought, inspiration struck. She could see Remus fighting to keep his eyes open for her, possibly for the same reason. "You don't have to worry about leaving me, you know," she whispered. "I may be some years younger than you but I'm a big girl. I won't be alone for that long. I'll join you, and James and Sirius soon. Merlin help me, eh?" she smiled through her blurry vision as more tears escaped. Then she added. "You would have been an amazing dad to Teddy; someone he could be proud of."

Remus smiled up at her. His vision was blurred too, but for a different reason. There was Tonks' face, lights of all different colours reflecting off her hair. Like a kaleidoscope. Her comment reiterated how she accepted and loved him, which gave him all the more reassurance that Teddy would too.

Slowly, he cupped her cheek with a trembling hand. "Just as beautiful as you were… that night…"

The ghost of a smile still playing at his lips, Remus' eyes fluttered closed.

He was gone.

Although Tonks had been expecting it, she couldn't stop the despair from bursting from her in a howling scream. She collapsed against him and sobbed; just waiting for the moment her spirit could be with him again. Without him, she felt like half of herself. Incomplete. Alone.

She was already losing consciousness when the moment arrived. Tonks couldn't even be sure if it had just been a natural transition or if someone used a Killing Curse. In a way she felt selfish that so many survivors will have the agonizing process of mourning their loved ones to dread, whilst she only experienced it for just a few minutes, only to have the privilege of being with her deceased loved one again. Forever.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **As always, thank you for reading :)


	5. TomGinny

**A/N: **Well, this is a pairing I've been wanting to write for a while (TomxGinny), so I hope you enjoy it :)

Word Count: 2,938

Written for: **QLFC rnd 7 **[Harpies, Beater 2 - Riddle's Diary: "We accept the love we think we deserve" _The Perks of Being a Wallflower -_ Stephen Chbosky, _Jack & Jill_ (nursery rhyme)]; **Quotes for all Occasions comp **[Family: "When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway."- Erma Bombeck]; **Hunger Games comp **["I do" I say. "I need you."]; **Disney characters comp **[Heroes - Mulan - Ginny]; **One Direction comp **[Little White Lies]; **Fave House Bootcamp **[used]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[retrospectively]; **Birthday comp **[August - characters - Ginny Weasley]; **Daily Inspiration challenge **[30th July: fear]

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Boy in the Diary<strong>

_Love is a game to you; it's not pretend. Maybe if I fall asleep I won't breathe right._

_Can nobody hear me? I've got a lot that's on my mind. – _Imagine Dragons

XXX

_But you, you don't tell the truth. No you, you like playing games._

_You've been taking up my mind with your little white lies. – _One Direction

There were times when Ginny Potter (née Weasley) still thought about Tom Riddle. It was rarely down to conscious musing; after being in the presence of Voldemort, she never allowed herself to even let Tom's name cross her mind. It was just too painful to even consider the notion that the monster that stood before her mocking the apparent death of her boyfriend could even be remotely related to the kind boy in the diary.

Only it was worse than that; Tom and Voldemort shared a soul. They were the same person, and that thought made Ginny feel physically sick. She refused to believe it. She and Tom… they had a bond that nobody else could understand. She knew him. Or at least, she thought she did. Time and time again, Ginny told herself that he was just using her and telling her what she wanted to hear in order to manipulate her to do things he lacked the physical capacity to do himself. He needed her. He made her feel wanted - even special - at times. At the time she thought he might have even loved her, and she him.

But that impression was just imagined from her deluded childish mind, wasn't it? It must have been. The only other answer Ginny had ever been able to come up with in retrospect, was that her written exchanges with him through the diary were around the period she was struggling to be herself around Harry and getting him to notice her.

She was frustrated that her feelings weren't reciprocated; she thought she deserved love, so when Tom came into her life she always accepted and ate up every perfectly written word with no hesitation.

Ginny, now a mother to three beautiful children determinedly refuted this idea, but it was the only logical explanation. She could never stand re-living how awkward, dependent and weak she'd been as a child, but sometimes she had to, because that time of her life was when she had Tom. And he had her.

He gave her confidence, inner-strength and emotional support. In return she… well, she almost ended up giving him her life. She'd been manipulated with magic and his hypnotic words, or so everyone assumed. Only Ginny knew the truth: it had been her own decision. She promised him she'd do anything for him if it meant him becoming strong again, if it meant actually being able to meet him. Properly.

It really was crazy how much some girls were willing to do for love - even the false kind. But Tom had been so protective, so caring to her that Ginny never could have imagined it was her life that would ensure he had one of his own.

'_Neither can live while the other survives…' _

That prophecy seemed to eerily reflect the relationship Ginny shared with Tom, just as it reflected the one her husband shared with Voldemort. She too, was protected for the very purpose of her destruction – at his hands – just as Harry had been.

For all of these reasons, Ginny didn't consciously allow herself to think about Tom, but the night was a completely different story: that was when the boy from the diary liked to invade her thoughts and dreams. Sleep made her vulnerable and unguarded, providing a strange similarity to the fragile and naïve girl Tom used to take advantage of and control. At least, that's who he was when Ginny was awake. When she was asleep, Tom was a charming, mysterious and caring boy who'd never dream of hurting her.

* * *

><p>'<em>Hello, Tom.' <em>

Ginny wiped a tear or two from her face as she wrote with an unsteady hand. The words were barely legible, so she was surprised to see the elegant script write back to her.

'_Hello, Ginevra. How are you today?'_

Ginny's stomach did a flip. There was nothing out of the ordinary about his question, but something about it seemed meaningful, almost like Tom knew she was upset.

(The boy in the diary understood her.)

'_Not brilliant', _she answered.

'_Tell me what happened.' _His next message was forward – almost commanding – but Ginny saw it more as friendly concern.

'_No, it doesn't matter. It's kind of stupid… you'll think_ I'm_ stupid.'_

'_I could never think that of you, Ginevra. Don't say things like that.'_

'_Why not?'_

'_Because I care about you. I'm your friend, and I don't want you to be upset.'_

Ginny poised her quill to write more excuses but another message appeared from Tom.

'_You can trust me.'_

She ought to have been much more sceptical about a disembodied stranger writing such things to her, but something about the aura emitted from the pages of the diary reassured her that he was telling the truth. She felt connected to the book: to Tom.

'_I can't get Harry Potter to notice me,' _she finally wrote. '_And when he does notice me, it's for all the wrong reasons.'_

'_Please elaborate, Ginevra.' _It was really bizarre how written words could sound so patient and sympathetic in Ginny's head; maybe it was the way the letters appeared so slowly, carefully, on the otherwise blank page.

'_Whenever Harry's in the room it's like someone casts a spell on me to make sure I always humiliate myself in front of him. It's awful. Everyone always laughs and Harry looks at me like I'm crazy.'_

'_The people who laugh at you aren't worth a single tear, Ginevra,' _Tom wrote back. '_It's their – and Harry Potter's – loss that they can't see how special you are.'_

'_Me – special?' _Ginny wrote with a dubious expression on her face.

'_Yes.' _Tom replied simply.

'_Is there anything I can do to make Harry notice me, in a good way?' _

There was a pause between her question and the reply. For a moment Ginny thought she'd upset him. But he wrote back.

(The boy in the diary _always_ wrote back.)

'_What are your interests, Ginevra?'_

'_Um… I can fly, but Harry's much better than me so that would hardly impress him. The other stuff I like is kind of silly.'_

'_Don't underrate yourself.' _Tom wrote. '_Remember: you are special.'_

'_Right,' _Ginny blushed. '_Well, I like animals and poetry and-'_

'_Poetry?' _Tom's writing appeared before Ginny could finish her sentence.

'_Well, the childish kind of poetry: nursery rhymes.' _

'_I'm not familiar with that genre,' _Tom wrote. _'Would you mind giving me an example?'_

Ginny thought for a moment and racked her brains. She ended up writing the only one she knew a whole verse of.

'_Jack and Jill went up a hill, _

_To fetch a pail of water._

_Jack fell down, and broke his crown, _

_And Jill came tumbling after.'_

She waited patiently for Tom's reply.

'_Why does Jill tumble down the hill too, Ginevra?' _His response was unexpected. She couldn't really understand why he was asking her about the poem as if she were the original author, but she played along.

'_I don't know; it doesn't say.'_

'_That's what is so intriguing about poetry, Ginevra. It is open to the perception of the reader. Read it again, and tell me what you think. Don't be manipulated by what words first appear to mean.'_

(The boy in the diary could have been warning her about his own actions.)

Ginny's written poem had vanished by this point, but she chanted the rhyme over and over in her head until she at last, saw something differently.

'_It doesn't say that Jill fell. Maybe she hurt herself on purpose because she didn't want Jack to be the only one in pain.'_

'_Why would Jill do that?'_

'_Um… I think she and Jack are friends like you and I are. She cares about him.'_

'_Very good, Ginevra,' _Tom's reply made Ginny feel like she was in a lesson, but something about the obscurity of his questions left her intrigued to see where he was going with the conversation.

'_What do you think, Tom?' _she asked him.

'_I agree with you, Ginevra. It seems you possess a bright mind; you understand poetry very well. Have you ever considered writing it yourself? Perhaps you could impress Harry Potter by that means.'_

Ginny chewed her lip. She'd honestly never considered writing a poem to Harry, thinking it to be a cheesy and embarrassing thing to do. But Valentine's Day was coming up; maybe she'd be able to get away with an anonymous line or two about how his eyes reminded her of the colour of a fresh pickled toad… only written more romantically than that.

'_I've never written anything like that before,' _she wrote her thoughts to Tom. '_I'm almost certain it will be awful.'_

'_Have faith in yourself. I could even help you, if you'd like.'_

'_You'd do that for me?' _

'_Of course I would. Like you said, we are friends just like Jack and Jill. If you need me, I will help you.'_

Ginny's grin stretched from ear to ear. If only she could see the twisted manipulations that played motive to the friendly comments. Before she could scribble a 'thank you' back to him, Tom started to write again.

'_I hope you know that I am only doing this for __you__, because I care about you and I want you to be happy. But if I am honest, I don't think Harry Potter is worth a moment of your time.'_

Ginny frowned. The thought of Tom being jealous of Harry did cross her mind, but that was absurd: how could he be jealous of a boy he'd never met before?

'_Oh?' _she asked.

'_Harry Potter can't see how special you are like I can," _read Tom's writing. '_It saddens me that he and those who laugh at you can be around you every day and not appreciate you.'_

'_Oh, Tom,' _Ginny wrote. '_If only I could meet you in person.'_

'_Would you like that Ginevra?' _

Ginny's heart leapt in excitement and joy. _'Yes! But, how is that possible?'_

Once again Tom changed, and almost controlled, the turn in conversation. _'Tell me, if I needed you, would you be there for me as Jill was to Jack, and as I am with you?'_

'_You… need me?' _Ginny felt her heart pounding against her ribcage like a rogue Bludger.

'_I do,' _he wrote in beautiful cursive._ 'I need you.'_

'_Are you hurt, Tom?' _Worry was etched on Ginny's face.

'_No, but I am weak. I need your help to make me strong again.'_

'_Tell me what to do,' _Ginny's quill skidded fiercely across the page in the diary. '_I'll do __anything__ to help you.'_

'_That is a very bold statement, Ginevra.'_

'_Well, I mean it.'_

When he replied, Ginny could almost sense the laughter that accompanied his disembodied voice. She could sense _him_.

'_You are a very determined young lady. And special. Never forget that you are special.'_

'_I won't, Tom.'_

'_Promise me.'_

'_I promise: cross my heart and hope to die.'_

'_Ginevra…'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Never say things like that. The thought of you dying… unsettles me. It makes me want you with me in person so I can protect you.'_

Ginny could have laughed at Tom's blatant misunderstanding of the figure of speech, but the humour faded when the diary began to shake, and the ink began to run.

(The boy in the diary was crying.)

'_I'm sorry, Tom.' _She wrote quickly. '_Tell me how I can meet you.'_

'_Are you good at keeping secrets, Ginevra?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Good – because you cannot tell anyone about me, or the place where you can meet me.'_

Again, Ginny ought to have been more concerned, but it was like her mind – her soul – was being possessed and overwhelmed by her need and want to help Tom.

'_Okay,' _she wrote. '_It will be our little secret.'_

'_Promise?'_

'_Promise.'_

XXX

Ginny glided in amongst the shadows of the castle. Tom had only instructed her to go to the second floor girl's lavatories, but when she reached the room, nobody was there.

A strange vibration peeled off the walls, almost like it was a whisper – his whisper – calling her towards him. Ginny's feet seemed to move independently from her mind as she approached one of the sinks. For some reason she was drawn to one in particular.

(The boy in the diary was controlling her like a puppet on a string.)

Ginny reached out and grazed her fingertips against the side of the tap. The serpentine protrusion on it instantly warmed beneath her touch, like she was connected to Tom for that split second. She knew she was at the right place.

Ginny closed her eyes and drew her head up straight. When she opened her eyes again and looked at her reflection in the mirror, she screamed.

Though still a human form, the reflection wasn't hers. But it also wasn't Tom's.

There in the mirror, was the face of a girl who bore similarities to Ginny, and yet, was not her. The same freckles covered her nose and her hair was the same vibrant shade of red, but it wasn't falling past her shoulders as Ginny's did. The girl's hair fell just below her round jawline, and her eyes were a striking green colour that reminded Ginny of a fresh pickled toad, instead of blue.

The girl was Ginny's daughter.

* * *

><p>It wasn't uncommon for Ginny's dreams to take the form of memories whenever Tom slipped past her defences and into her thoughts at night, but it <em>was<em> uncommon for Ginny to wake up in a cold sweat and for Harry to have to shake her back to consciousness because she had been screaming in the real world as well as in the dream.

She woke up scared instead of melancholic as she normally did. Usually, Ginny re-lived how blissfully oblivious she'd been as a child; she was able to enjoy getting to know the boy in the diary all over again without a care in the world. But this dream was very different: according to Harry she'd been tossing and turning right off the mark. That meant she'd been scared in the dream, too.

It took Ginny ages to put the pieces together. Though the memory was accurate, some of the finer details were wrong. The nursery rhyme, for example, had been a children's poem from the wizarding world in Ginny's real experience instead of a Muggle rhyme she'd never even heard of at aged eleven. Then there was that terrifying ending, of course, with Ginny's reflection being revealed to be Lily's.

Lily…

Suddenly, it all made sense. Lily, now aged thirteen, had been taught several nursery rhymes from her aunt Hermione when she was little. Jack and Jill was one of her favourites, and the fact that the girl in the dream was able to interpret the lines so well sent a shiver down Ginny's spine.

It had been Lily all along in the dream, and that's what had terrified Ginny so much. It was one thing to re-live her own memories, but seeing the same seemingly innocent exchange between Tom and Lily gave Ginny a whole new outlook on the situation.

Feeling nothing but terror at the realisation and relief that the dream hadn't been real, she rushed out of the master bedroom and across the landing to Lily's room. Ginny entered without knocking.

"Mum?" Lily, who was in her usual nocturnal phase of the school holidays, jumped off her bed and ran into her mother's outstretched arms. Ginny gripped her tightly, never wanting to let her go, or rather: never wanting to let someone like Tom Riddle take her away.

She became calmer the longer she held Lily; she was safe, and that's all that mattered.

"Sweetie," Ginny crouched so she was at her daughter's eye-level. "Can you do something for me?"

Lily nodded silently, unable to look away from her mother's tear-stained face.

"I don't want you writing in that diary that your friend from school bought you for your birthday," Ginny said in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry to ask you something so unreasonable. As a mum, the last thing I want to do is to invade the privacy of my teenage daughter, but-"

"Okay, Mum," Lily said. Her mother _never_ cried, and the young girl was smart enough to know that in this case, she'd have a good reason for asking something like this of her.

Ginny couldn't help but smile at the maturity Lily was displaying. She was probably over-reacting about the dream, but the fact that Lily had been becoming increasingly attached to writing in her diary like she trusted it – like it were human – over the last few days made the dream seemed like a dark omen that the past would repeat itself.

"Do you want a piece of advice?" Ginny asked Lily, who rolled her eyes, knowing she was going to get the advice whether she asked for it or not.

Ginny smiled, "I know teenagers like to use diaries to write down things that they might be too embarrassed to ask or say out loud, but it's always best to talk to someone in person."

"Like you?" Lily asked.

"Yes, like me," Ginny replied.

"Okay, Mum. I'll come to you next time I need advice, even if it's about something really stupid like boys."

Ginny managed a laugh. "You promise?"

"Promise," Lily smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! As always, comments are appreciated :)


	6. LuciusNarcissa

**A/N: **I decided to try something a little different and write a poetry-fic. The style I used is called a Kyrielle, which is written in four-lines stanzas of eight syllables and a refrain in each. This was quite challenging with the syllable counts, so I hope it actually makes sense! (Jack is an OC; I'm classing this as an AU to be safe).

**Written for: Test Your Limits II rnd 3** [Styx - love triangle]; **7 Deadly Sins comp **[Envy]; **HP Chapter comp **[HBP: A Sluggish Memory - deceit]

* * *

><p><strong><span>Jack Blackwood<span>**

_Lucius/Narcissa_

* * *

><p>Young Narcissa Black's name was called.<p>

She stepped up; the Hat never stalled.

She joined us. I applauded; stood.

She met me before Jack Blackwood.

.

Blood so pure and beauty divine,

Merlin himself would wait in line

for her, I thought. Anyone would.

How could she fall for Jack Blackwood?

.

One day, I asked her out. She said,

"I can't. I'm seeing Jack instead."

After that I knew where I stood,

She _always _preferred Jack Blackwood.

.

A Half-Blood – _impure_ – unlike me,

Jack and Cissa weren't meant to be.

I could have exposed them. I should.

But that wouldn't hurt only Blackwood.

.

Spoke of Cissa to my father

about the love I did harbour

years later. He told me I should

grow up, and dispose of Blackwood.

.

Sharp shivers running down my spine,

I lured him to a friend of mine.

Filled with envy and in cold blood,

I said "farewell" to Jack Blackwood.

.

_Obliviate_ was cast on Jack

following a bite from Greyback.

Now in a distant neighbourhood

dwells a Werewolf named Jack Blackwood

.

Filled with loneliness and despair,

She needed comfort. I was there.

Having her need _me_ felt so good,

She'd soon forget about Blackwood.

.

She gave up hope of Jack's return.

I only hope she'll never learn

of my secret, for her own good:

Narcissa _Malfoy_'s (not Blackwood).

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you very much for reading :)


	7. DracoHarry

**A/N:** A pairing suggestion from _ObsessivePanda _(Drarry). I'm a bit nervous about this; 'tis my first time writing a slash pairing but I hope it's half-decent haha. A fluffy one-shot that mixes family and romance genres. :)

Wordcount: 3011

**For:** **QLFC rnd 8 **[Harpies Beater 2: Make a Dementor fluffy, transformation, "The marks humans leave are too often scars," - John Green TFIOS, "You can't live your life for other people. You've got to do what's right for you, even if it hurts some people you love." ― Nicholas Sparks, _The Notebook_]; **Secret Battle comp rnd 2 **[Lucius Malfoy, drunk, Merlin, loneliness, sharp]; **HP Chapter comp **[PS/SS: Mirror of Erised - Heart's Desire/Potter family]; **Hunger Games comp **["Real, or not real?"]; **Birthday comp **[August - characters - Harry Potter]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[pillow talk]; **Fave House Bootcamp **[scar]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sweet Dreams<strong>

Harry ran through a thicket of trees as he tried to escape the dark non-entity that was following him. His feet were thundering against the earth but his body felt weightless. The rattling breaths of the Dementors were drawing nearer with every step, but Harry felt no fear or sorrow.

When he reached a dead-end he drew his wand with nothing but a smile on his face; he welcomed the moment when he could conjure his Patronus. In reality, he'd have no choice but to separate what was real and what he wanted to be real in a situation like this. But this was a dream, and in this realm Harry could make his happy memory anything at all.

Real, or not real: it didn't matter here.

The introduction of the dream being an encounter with a Dementor, or sometimes looking into the Mirror of Erised gave Harry some kind of leverage to make his thoughts seem as genuine as possible.

He lifted his ever-faithful Holly and Phoenix feather wand at the shrouded figure that towered above him. Just as a skeletal and inhuman hand lunged for Harry's throat, he closed his eyes and yelled:

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

With a smile on his face, Harry watched the transformation of the ambiguous white light as it took on its corporeal form. In a matter of seconds, everything around him: the forest, the Dementor, the Patronus, dissolved into black, and Harry was pulled into his dream-self's alternate-reality memories that conjured the stag.

There was still a hand lunging towards him in this new place, but it was fleshy and human instead of bony and grotesque. The hand stopped short of Harry's face, and held a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Drink up, Harry," his godfather grinned. "Well deserved, that is."

"Deserved for what?" Harry asked Sirius, not even waiting for a reply before he lifted the bottle to his lips.

"Sirius," Remus said warningly from beside him. "Harry isn't even of age yet so you'd better not let James or Lily catch you."

"For that sheer bloody cheek of yours," Sirius answered Harry, ignoring Remus for a moment. "'There's no need to call me Sir, Professor.'" He burst out laughing, causing the contents of his own bottle to slosh onto the floor. "And to say that old Snivellus, too – bloody priceless! You're growing up to be a little sass master just like I was."

There was a clearing of a throat, and then James' voice. "Don't you mean like _I _was, Padfoot?" He glanced at the bottle in Harry's hands. He winked at his son and whispered. "Make sure your mum doesn't find out."

Remus looked incredulous. "James, don't you think that's a bit irrespons-"

"You're one to talk, Moony. At his age you were wolfing back the booze just as much as the rest of us were," James said, exchanging smirks with Sirius.

"_Wolfing_ back? Really?" Remus sighed. "I thought you were past that now."

"Well tough luck," Sirius grinned. "You're stuck with our wolf puns for life."

"Howwwww-" James dragged out the word to make it sound like a howl. "- do you like that?" he asked Remus, who was determinedly trying to keep a straight face.

"Not funny," he coughed, trying to mask his laugh.

Harry watched this whole exchange with amusement. Most, if not all of his Patronus dreams envisioned his happy memory to be something as simple as being with his family in his house at Godric's Hollow. He was often much younger than he actually was in his dreams, too, because after a childhood that revolved around Voldemort and trying to stay alive, Harry always wanted to know what a normal one would have been like.

Of course, in real life, none of the adults in his dream were alive, but it was Harry's heart's desire to have had a moment like this with them all. And so, a scenario like this frequented his subconscious mind at night.

Harry took another sip of Firewhiskey and saw his dad wander over to his mum's collection of Muggle CDs. James began rooting through them as Sirius and Remus watched on with expressions of curiosity and subtle dread respectively.

"Aha!" James exclaimed triumphantly as he plucked a thin square case from the rack and held it aloft for the others to see.

Lily walked into the room at that moment, and a sharp look from Sirius coaxed Harry to hide his bottle of alcohol behind his back. Sirius winked at him and nodded proudly. Harry grinned back.

His mother groaned when she saw the CD James had selected. "Really?" she sighed. "Don't you think you've picked on poor Remus enough for one night?"

"Aw relax," James waved her off and smirked. "We've always picked on him in the most loving way possible. He knows that."

"Oh yeah," Sirius threw an arm around Remus' shoulders and smiled up at him. "James and I love you."

Remus chuckled. "How lucky I am to be loved so much by Prancer and the fleabag."

"Moony," Sirius pouted. "You know I'm sensitive about my flea issues. Although…" he leaned towards Remus and then spoke in a loud whisper. "You got Prancer bang on for James over there."

Harry couldn't quite tell if his godfather's failed attempt at a whisper was done deliberately, or if it was simply an effect of his slightly drunk state.

"Oi!" James looked at his best and oldest friends. "That name never has and never will be okay with me," he berated half-heartedly.

"Well, in your Animagus form you always strut about so much that I think it's quite apt," Remus commented, taking a sip of his drink.

"I didn't and still do not strut," James said. He stooped down and put the round disc into the player. A song Harry wasn't familiar with played form the speakers and around the room.

"What's this?" Remus' brows knitted, as did Sirius'.

"You'll see soon enough," James grinned. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and sank into an armchair with his drink.

'_I'm on the hunt I'm after you. Smell like I sound, I'm lost in a crowd, and I'm hungry like the wolf…'_

At that line Sirius did a spit-take as the laughter erupted from his mouth. He and James both doubled over at the look on Remus' face. Despite wanting to sympathise with Remus, Harry couldn't help but laugh along.

Lily patted Remus on the shoulder. "I honestly don't know how you put up with them," she said.

"I could ask you the same question," he chuckled.

Lily laughed too before walking over to Harry. "Thank Merlin you inherited some of my level-headedness. I don't know how I'd cope if you were a complete miniature version of your father."

She kissed the top of Harry's head, her emerald eyes twinkling as she smiled at him. Before Harry could say anything in return, there was a knock at the door.

"I wonder who that is," James commented as _Hungry Like The Wolf _continued to play on.

"I swear to Godric if any of you've tried to be funny by ordering a stripper here again, I won't be impressed," Lily said as she walked out of the room.

Harry frowned, and looked questioningly at Sirius, who just shook his head. In doing so he was either indicating that now wasn't the time to be explaining, or that he'd decided to be responsible and not explain anything to Harry at all. Harry didn't really have the chance to ask him anyway, as Lily called him to say there was someone at the door for him.

Sirius, quite aptly, wolf-whistled at this. "Ooohh," he said teasingly. "Has Harry been hiding a special someone from us?"

"Not that I'm aware of," James replied as Harry left the room and headed for the door. His heart almost jumped out of his throat when he saw a familiar blond head.

"Oh thank Salazar this is the right house," Draco laughed in a way that always made Harry's stomach do somersaults. "Hi, Harry," he smiled.

"Draco," Harry's eyes widened behind the round frames of his glasses as he stared at his boyfriend. "You can't be here."

"Why not?" Draco asked. This time when he spoke, his voice sounded much closer. More real.

"Because nobody knows about us," Harry blurted out.

With those words, the sounds of laughter in the front room and the music faded away as Harry's mind drifted back into consciousness. The image of Draco standing on the doorstep of his house dissolved into black, and then Harry's eyes snapped open as he left the dream world. He blindly fumbled around on the nightstand for his glasses and put them on.

Draco was sitting up in bed beside him. His blond hair was slightly dishevelled from sleeping and his sparkling grey eyes looked down at him curiously. An arched brow completed this overall expression.

"Were you dream cheating on me?" he drawled without pre-amble.

"What?" Harry asked a little groggily. He sat up too and instinctively lifted a hand to flatten his unruly bed hair.

"You were mumbling all this nonsense like 'you can't be here'," Draco said. "And I know you were talking to me because you said my name."

It took Harry a moment to come to his senses and adjust to the fact that his parents, Sirius and Remus were not here with him. He was momentarily overcome with a pang of loneliness, as he always was after one of those particular 'what if' dreams.

Draco must have seen his forlorn expression, as the next thing Harry felt was a strong arm around his shoulder. He snuggled down and leaned into Draco's body, inhaling his familiar vanilla-y scent.

"Merlin it wasn't real, I won't be _that_ upset if you were dream-cheating," Draco laughed, mistaking the cause of Harry's moment of sadness. "I mean, I might use it as a means to emotionally blackmail you but –"

Now Harry laughed. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He paused, suddenly realising that he was talking in his sleep towards the end, and the reason why Draco's voice seemed so real was because he'd been talking back to him in real life. "And I wasn't dream-cheating on you, don't worry."

"So, what were you talking about?"

"I think it's time that we tell people about us," Harry blurted. He felt Draco's body tense, but he did not pull his arm away. It had been a completely new occurrence for Draco to show up in one of his dreams like that. Those particular dreams – ones that began with a Dementor attack or the Mirror of Erised – were the ones that epitomised Harry's deepest desires, so he only put the ending down to being a message from his heart.

He and Draco had been together for a few months now, and whilst they were happy with keeping a low profile about it in the beginning, Harry only now realised that he didn't want to sneak around any longer.

"I think you're right," Draco surprised him with his answer. Harry felt his heart leap with relief and happiness. "But I don't know if I could tell my father."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"You know how rocky our relationship has been since the war," Draco said quietly. "We're still trying to recover from our blow-out last week when he found out I actually had a job."

"But that's a good thing, isn't it? You gaining financial independence from him and all that."

"Honestly, the only reason I decided to seek employment in the first place is because I want to have a positive impact on the world; make my mark, you know? I don't want to be remembered as the world's worst Death Eater. Father doesn't even understand that, so how will he ever accept _us_?"

"He may just think you're wasting your time," Harry mused aloud in an attempt to comfort Draco. "The marks humans leave are too often scars no matter how good you try to be."

"Ain't that the truth, Scarhead?" Draco spoke quietly but the smirk was all too evident in his voice as he gently stroked the faded mark on Harry's forehead.

"It is," he absently let his own fingers trace the pink line across Draco's chest that Harry left himself in their sixth year.

Draco's fingers strayed into Harry's hair. He absently started to run them through it, to just feel it, as the other wizard lay against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. The two of them were silent, but it was amiable and comfortable.

Harry sighed in contentment. He loved how Draco: aloof, distant, cold Draco, could be so open and intimate with him. It made Harry see the blond wizard in an entirely new light.

Looking up at him now, those sharp edges of his facial bone structure seemed softer and friendlier, reflecting that secretly gentle side of his prickly personality. Then there was Draco's pale skin, which was so cold in appearance but as smooth and delicate as porcelain. Harry was always mesmerised by how pore-less and clean Draco's complexion was, and this moment was no exception to that. Harry slowly drew an invisible line with his index finger, as he lightly moved it from Draco's chest, along his shoulders and neck to his cheek, where it rested.

Grey locked with green as Harry allowed his eyes to follow the path of his finger. He became lost in the swirling pools of silver just as much as Draco was getting lost in his emerald. The Slytherin had often likened their eye colours to his house's emblem, but Harry didn't care. He'd stopped caring about being likened to a Slytherin the moment he fell in love with one.

Draco and Harry remained lost in one another's gazes for so long that time eventually slipped away from them. Eventually, Harry spoke.

"You know, you can't live your life for other people," he spoke so softly, as if he were afraid that reaching a certain decibel would shatter this special moment that was just for them. "You've got to do what's right for you. Even if it hurts some people you love."

Harry held his breath as Draco's eyes finally strayed from his. He watched as Draco's tongue flicked out and dampened his lower lip before looking at him again.

"Did you just quote _The Notebook_ to me?" he arched a brow and chuckled lightly. "That's really cheesy, Potter." His voice matched Harry's volume and tone.

Harry blushed faintly. Hermione had lent them that film a few weeks ago, and in that time Harry and Draco had watched it so much that they'd learnt it word for word. Almost. Suffice it to say, Hermione wouldn't be getting it back any time soon.

"Oh," Harry said. Now it was his turn to look away. "I didn't realise… but I still think the point is valid."

"I agree," Draco said.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "I'm sorry, but are you admitting I'm right about something."

"Now don't be getting the wrong idea; this is merely a coincidence," Draco smirked.

"Yeah, right," Harry said sarcastically.

Draco laughed for a moment before matching Harry's previously quiet and sincere tone. "There's one thing I don't like about that quote," he said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"The pronoun used is 'you', not 'we'." Draco left it at that, predictably being cryptic and leaving Harry to put the pieces of the jigsaw together. The way Draco felt the need to test Harry all the time was infuriating, but at the same time, quite addictive. It didn't take Harry long to work out his message this time.

"Draco, you know I wouldn't let you tell Lucius on your own. We'll tell him. Together," Harry laced his fingers in between Draco's and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Together," Draco repeated. "Sounds good."

"Good," Harry smiled. He wriggled back under the duvet and rested his head against Draco's chest. "We don't have to get up right now, do we?" he asked.

Draco, who'd actually been meaning to get some preparation done for a meeting at work tomorrow, couldn't find it in his heart to refuse him. (And being a Slytherin, that was saying a lot).

"Not at all," he smiled. "You can go back to sleep if you want… I know how lazy you are."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You just had to ruin the moment didn't you?"

"Of course." Draco's reply was followed by another silence.

"For what it's worth," Harry's voice brought whatever parts of Draco's brain that had been on the brink of sleep on full alert again. "You've done enough to put a positive mark onto my world."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Everything Harry came out with was always so cheesy, but at the same time, so sincere and meaningful that he knew he'd regret poking fun at him. It was hard for Draco to be as open and romantic as Harry, but that didn't seem to matter when the Gryffindor was plenty mushy for the both of them.

It had evidently taken Draco too long to think of a way to respond, for Harry's chest was now rising and falling steadily, and his breathing was shallow. Draco continued to run his fingers through his black hair until Harry drifted out of consciousness again.

"Sweet dreams."

Those were the last words Harry heard from Draco in the real world as he was once again, forced to succumb to the draw of sleep. With his worries now at ease, Harry welcomed the déja-vu of first being chased by a Dementor, then casting the Patronus, being catapulted into an alternate universe where his loved ones were still alive and finally, seeing Draco standing on the doorstep.

This time, Harry didn't yell at Draco to leave. This time, he welcomed the blond into his home in Godric's Hollow, and they proceeded to finally tell everyone about their relationship. Together.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! As ever, comments are appreciated :D


	8. NevilleLuna

**A/N: **Another pairing I ship but have never written. Also Mel, one Kallie coming your way as soon as I get a plot bunny ;)

This was written for Mel's (MelodyPond77), Graphic Design competition; the accompanying story to explain the symbolism of my entry for the Sort of a Half-Blood cover. (Suggested symbols used: moon, stars, nature. Themes:, nature, warriors, fey culture. )

Note: Borrowing Mel's OC Silena and one or two quotes at the end to reference her story so the end may not make sense. I apologise in advance for this.

Also for pairing diversity bootcamp. Prompt - purple

Finally, I'm not convinced on the quality of this, as I wrote it at 2AM :P But I hope it's okay!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Restrictions of Realism<strong>

_Neville/Luna_

He found her at the bottom of the garden, sitting on a log wearing her fluffy purple robes. Luna's blonde hair was shimmering as it reflected the gentle light of the full moon and the stars. It was like she was one with nature; she understood it and it understood her perfectly.

Neville approached her tentatively, not wanting to bring her from her calm reverie, but at the same time, wanting to share this moment of peace with her. There were still times when Neville's sleep would be disturbed by nightmares of Bellatrix Lestrange or the Battle of Hogwarts, but Luna always seemed to calm him down without having to say a thing. She was such a gentle soul, and that's what Neville loved most about her.

"Hello."

At first Neville thought Luna was speaking to the jar of Bluebell Flames that hovered in a jar beside her, but she slowly turned to face him. A platinum curtain of loose waves masked her face, half casting her dreamy expression in a mysterious shadow. Her shimmering silver eyes twinkled at him happily.

"Hey," Neville smiled, walking over and perching on the log beside her. Luna seemed unperturbed (or oblivious) to his awkwardness about potentially intruding on her time alone. "What you up to?" he asked.

"Oh, not much really," Luna smiled vacantly, looking down into her lap, where a small leather pouch lay. She lightly kicked her bare feet through the patch of wild flowers in front of her. "Just a spot of painting."

Neville watched, feeling slightly confused as she reached down and picked up a stick. Luna brought it in front of her face and examined it intently before carefully placing it between her hands and snapping it in half. Something about the juxtaposition between her delicate, precise preparation and the sudden and harsh snap was quite captivating, and Neville continued to watch.

"There," she smiled softly to herself and turned slightly away from Neville. She turned back a few seconds later, the tip of the stick now covered in a wet pastel-pink coloured substance, and she proceeded to spread it over what looked like the leather pouch with the tip of the stick. Her hand moved freely and fluently, but there was a distinct glint of concentration in her eyes as she stole glances at the patch of flowers every now and again.

"Can I ask why are you using a stick to do that?" Neville asked.

Luna seemed too caught up in her own thoughts to reply, and she lifted what looked like thin air up to the sky. She tilted her head this way and that, but her glassy eyes gave nothing away as she looked at the splodge of pink that seemed to have lifted up along with he hands.

Curious, Neville inched his head a little closer to hers. Luna didn't react as his cheek touched hers. He saw what looked like a dark, continuous squiggly line against the mystical purple night sky.

"Luna, how did you-?"

"It's just a charm to make my parchment transparent," her dreamy voice replied calmly. "I was going to use these natural dyes to paint in the sky, but why bother when the real thing is right here in front of us?"

"Are you painting the flowers?" Neville asked, feeling more confident now that he knew what was going on.

"Yes," Luna said quietly.

Neville squinted at the line she'd drawn, and saw that the wobbly pink shape she'd made using the stick was trickling outside of it. Luna didn't seem to mind, though. In fact she seemed quite pleased. Neville remained quite puzzled; he'd always thought colour running out the lines was a mistake.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Luna began to speak again as she lowered the parchment and slipped the stick into the leather pouch before pulling out a smaller but wider one. "My grandmother was a fey; she used to teach my mum that her culture heavily embraced the natural environment. It's why I like to use natural materials to paint with and to store my tools, you see. Elves usually wear organic leather material, and nature is such a beautiful and pure thing after all, so why take that quality away from it by using brushes?"

Luna dabbed flecks of yellow against the pink and absently watched the colours swirl together. She picked up a leaf and dabbed at it, causing the colour to marble and stray even more away from the lines. "Using things that are untouched by man just seem to give it more realism."

At this comment, Neville stole a dubious glance at the flowers in front of her, which had more earthy tones than the bright and delicate ones Luna was using. She dipped the yellow end of the stick into a green dye next, and dabbed several large drops seemingly randomly on the parchment. She held it up to the sky, and allowed the green to drip freely down to symbolise the plant's stem.

"I find that the real beauty in art isn't in the realism, but in the movement of the lines. You see this long one," Luna lightly traced her finger on the faint squiggle Neville had been scrutinizing earlier, giving the impression that she was playing dot-to-dot with the stars. "I blackened the edge of a stick and drew that without it leaving the page. It may not look like the flowers accurately, but it has life." At this point Luna gazed off wistfully at nothing in particular. Neville wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or herself as she continued:

"Realism is restrictive to any story the artist is trying to tell: if I copied the flowers exactly, my inspiration from the fey wouldn't be present on the parchment."

"It looks innocent," Neville mused aloud. "Like a child has drawn-" he stopped himself and blushed. "Oh Merlin I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Don't worry," Luna lowered the parchment and continued to add dabs of colour with delicate precision. "Nobody is interested in the normality of realism when it comes to art, are they? It's very good, but if it represents the everyday world then really, where's the magic coming from?"

With this thought in mind, Neville started to see her picture in a completely different light. The fantastical colours, the texture of the leaves, the sky and the stars, the sticks and the leather pouch all just seemed to fall into place together, and created something that was truly glamorous and natural.

Luna smiled as she lowered it again, and Neville was almost certain that she'd finished, but then she rummaged around in her pouch again and pulled out a sharp stone.

Something about the way Luna moved from then on was different. She dipped a pointed edge of the stone into her pot of black ink, placed it onto the parchment and dragged it almost carelessly as she traced the stems and petals of the flowers where the original squiggly line had been.

Her features remained serene, but she gripped the stone hard, and it moved in a frenzied fashion in a continuous line until the entire picture was outlined. It almost gave the elegant flowers a sinister personification: that they were dangerous. The black lines differed in thickness and depth too, and for some reason when Luna held the parchment up to let the black lines run over the green stems, Neville almost envisioned droplets of blood. He shuddered slightly at the juxtaposition, but couldn't help but feel captivated by it.

"The fey were known for being strong people," Luna's voice drifted into the night. "Their world was completely pure, natural and organic, but their culture was very warrior-like and sometimes deadly. Using only one line now," Luna gestured to the stone. "I feel it harmonises and balances the soft and natural petals with the thick, dark and edgy outline. The different components, like in the fey culture, are linked together, now - don't you think?"

"Yeah," Neville said. He snuggled against Luna as she brought her completed picture up to the sky one final time.

The moon added a white highlight to the flowers, which contrasted against the black lines Luna had added; giving a lifelike three-dimensional depth that hadn't been there before. All in all, the balance between the glamorous and the edgy elements worked together seamlessly.

Suddenly the way the colour spread out of the lines didn't look so childlike. In fact it seemed perfectly _im_perfect; the beautiful colours were escaping the restraints of the un-natural black line, creating the effect of an untidy jagged edge, which if anything just epitomised the combination of the two styles.

The stars twinkled all around the image of the flowers, and made the marbled colours dance and change like elves could change their appearance. The pastel colours against the sky tied everything together. It was gentle, ethereal and mystical, but also dark and dangerous.

It was this image that crossed Neville's mind a few months later, when he returned to work at Hogwarts and Professor McGonagall informed him of a new student by the name of Silena Ashington would be starting there.

"She isn't fully human. She's… Half-Elf."

_A caring, gentle and loyal girl who could also be your most formidable enemy,_ Neville thought, remembering the careful movements of Luna's hand as she added colour, and then the sharp slashing movements of adding the black outlines.

The fey culture revolved around the two distinct halves of glamour and warriors, and Silena was a half in species. But, as Neville had learnt from a wise young witch, a continuous line could combine even the most contrasting things to harmonise and balance seamlessly.

Silena wasn't a normal girl, he knew that much. But sometimes, being different was no bad thing at all. Selena wasn't restricted entirely to the human culture; she was free to explore both sides of her heritage, just as the colours on Luna's painting had been free to escape the restrictive lines of realism.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I actually did use a stick to paint the flowers in my entry :P (and the texture in the background is leather, just to clarify) :)

Thanks for reading :)


	9. Marauders

**A/N: **This was not the story to procrastinate on when I have deadline :P I've never written the Marauders before so I really hope this is alright haha :) Basically this is a load of banter-y fluff.

Enjoy!

**Written for:**** Last Man Standing comp rnd 1** [Marauders Era]; **Disney comp **[John and Michael Darling - The Marauders]; **HP Chapter comp **[OoTP - The Second War Begins - Friendship]; **Birthday comp **[March - characters - James I]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[James/Lily - nerves]

* * *

><p><span><strong>First Date Nerves<strong>

_The Marauders (Friendship)_

"Well, that's my studying done," Sirius, lying on his bed with his feet crossed against the slope of the wall, said decisively. He slammed his textbook shut and threw it carelessly across the room, not so much as lifting his head when it flew straight out of the open window.

"Sirius!" Remus gasped in horror, shedding the blanket of notes that had been strewn across his lap and running over to the window.

"Ow – what the hell?" a female voice shrieked from below.

"Sorry!" Remus yelled back sheepishly even though it hadn't been his fault. He closed the window and walked back over to his bed, stooping over to gather up his notes and scattering them across his duvet.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"You know, for saying you didn't mean to do that," Peter looked up from his own book. "That was a bloody good shot."

"How can you be so sure that was an accident?" Sirius winked. He folded his arms behind his shaggy head of hair and looked up at the ceiling. "And by the way, Moony,"

"Yes?" Remus asked wearily.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"May I say how kind it was of you to get my textbook back for me," Sirius said dryly.

"Well as you implied you'd been planning to do that all along, I'd have good faith that you'd already have a plan of action about retrieving the book," Remus looked up and smirked.

"Ooooh," Sirius chorused mockingly. "Isn't somebody a grumpy wolf today? What's up Remus, is it –"

"Don't say it," Remus warned.

"Why?" Sirius asked innocently. "I was only wondering if it was your time of the month."

He and Peter erupted with laugher whilst Remus made a show of sighing in annoyance, though; he couldn't help but crack a small smile all the same.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The laughter died down after a few seconds, and a minute of silence passed before Sirius sighed dramatically and proclaimed, "I'm bored!"

"Me, too," Peter moaned.

"I can't speak for Peter," Remus said. "But you, Sirius, certainly wouldn't be bored if you'd studied for more than five minutes before throwing your book out of the bloody window."

"Oops," Sirius grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "But come on, let's do something! It's Saturday for Godric's sake!"

_TAP. TAP. TAP._

"Merlin's pants, James, are you trying to learn Morse Code or something?" Remus asked in exasperation as the sound of quill tapping against parchment became too loud to ignore.

"Mm?" James looked at him vacantly. "What code? Oh, are we coming up with code names for things now? Great," he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. "Hmm let's see, I vote…" he clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and allowed his hazel eyes to wander over the ceiling for a while before speaking again. "I vote we call Dungbombs 'apples' from now on. I mean, who's gonna get suspicious if I just innocently say I'm nipping into the Charms room to put a lovely apple on the teacher's desk-"

"James!" Remus brought him out of his daze. "Not that kind of code. I was talking about Morse Code: you know, the Muggle means of communication."

James' expression remained blank.

"The thing we've just been revising in Muggle Studies…" Remus said leadingly, gesturing with his hand in the vain hope he'd jog James' memory. His expression was still blank.

The tawny-haired boy peered at the open textbook on James' lap. "The bloody thing that you've supposedly been reading about for the last five minutes?"

James lifted the book to his face and scrutinized the words hard; as if it was the first time he was reading them. Eventually recognition dawned on him. "Oh – _that._ I'm with you now."

"Are you really?" Peter asked.

"No, but don't tell Moony that," James smirked in a stage whisper. "I don't have time for his lectures."

Sirius perked up at this comment. "Oh? Do you have a cunning prank planned out? Perhaps one that involves 'apples'," he winked exaggeratedly.

James chuckled. "No, actually. But we could always do that when I get back." He smirked.

"Back?"

"From where?"

"I've got a date," James' grin grew wider.

"Ooooh," all three other boys chorused together. "Who with?"

"Guess," James said, lounging back in his chair.

"That Emma girl in Hufflepuff?" Peter asked.

"McKinnon?" offered Remus.

"Mitzy!" Sirius shouted.

James cocked a brow and laughed. He pointed to each of his friends individually. "Wrong, wrong, and Mitzy's a bloody House-Elf, Padfoot."

Sirius shrugged, "It's possible."

"But wrong… on _so_ many levels," James shuddered. "Actually, it's Lily."

"Evans?" Remus' eyes widened.

"The girl who swore she'd sooner drop out of Hogwarts than go on a date with you?"

James shrugged. "What can I say, I guess sharing the Head's dorm with me has worn her down a little."

"Or you _Imperiused_ her," Peter's laugh soon turned uncomfortable. "Wait. You didn't _Imperius_ her, did you?"

"'Course not," James said. He smiled to himself then, unable to contain his happiness that Lily had finally agreed - of her own accord - to go out with him. He didn't even care if she was doing it just to get him to leave her alone; she was going and that's what mattered.

James' smile faded when his eyes met Sirius', who was now sat on his bed with his hands clasped together and his elbows resting on his thighs.

"James," he said seriously. "My good friend; my partner in crime; my most _favourite_ deer; can I be honest with you?"

"Er, sure," James said, running a hand through his messy hair.

Sirius leaned even further forwards towards him. "Now, I mean this in the kindest way possible, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say that…" he paused. "You're going to mess this up. Let me do it instead."

"Me? Mess up a date? Ha!" James scoffed as he tried to cover up his true reaction, and nonchalantly ran a hand through his messy hair. He knew they were right deep down. He'd never been this nervous about a date before, and then he started to feel nervous_ because_ he was feeling nervous.

_Dammit, Evans…_ he thought.

"And what do you mean 'let me do it instead'?" he asked Sirius, feeling the need to maintain his confident façade. "I'm just as smooth with the ladies as you, Padfoot."

"Ah," Sirius held up a finger. "But being yourself: I.E. – a cocky tosser, isn't going to work on Lily, is it?"

"In fact that's the reason why you've failed to get a date with her until now," Remus added.

"So how on earth are you going to get through this without my help?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, because you're so sensitive around girls, aren't you Sirius?" Remus snorted.

"Excuse me, but are you daring to question my pulling abilities?"

"Based on that fiasco with the textbook just now, then yes, I am," Remus smirked.

"Why?" Sirius' eyes bulged in horror and he whipped around to face Remus. "Was the girl fit?"

"I don't know!" Remus cried. "I only saw the top of her head."

"You can tell a lot from the top of a girl's head, you know," Sirius said.

"Besides the colour of her hair, what else is there to know?" Peter piped up, eyes gleaming with interest.

"Oh Peter," Sirius tsk'ed sadly. "So much to learn; so little time."

"Hello!" James said, waving his arms and gesturing to himself. "Actual girl-related problems, over here."

"Alright, alright," Sirius turned again. "Honestly you always have to be the centre of attention, don't you?"

"Of course," James grinned. "So are you going to help or what?"

"Oh," Sirius matched his smile. "So you've finally seen the light have you?"

"No," James replied. "But this way I can just blame you if this date ends with Lily hexing me in the balls."

"And," Sirius dragged the word out, as if he was fishing for a compliment.

"And," James mimicked his tone. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long that I can't afford to screw it up."

"In other words, you want me to go with you."

"Moral support would be nice," James sighed. "But you're going to have to go in your Animagus form."

"Ah, an undercover job," Sirius stroked his chin. "Intriguing."

"Er, James…" Remus intervened cautiously as he cocooned himself in notes again. "Is Sirius really the best man for the job if you're _not_ wanting to act like, to quote him, a cocky tosser?"

"He's got a point," Peter chuckled. "You'd want someone more reserved like Remus, surely!"

James pursed his lips in thought for a moment before shaking his head. "He's got exams to worry about."

"Yes," Remus said. "And evidently I'm the only one of us who's bothering to revise."

"And what am I doing then, painting my bloody toenails?" Peter exclaimed sarcastically, wildly gesturing to the books and notes that surrounded him.

A pregnant pause filled the room. "What?" the chubby boy blushed.

"_Do_ you paint your toenails, Wormtail?" Sirius asked on behalf of everyone.

"Of course not!"

"You know, I think we're going to have to check during the night," James smirked.

"And if he hasn't painted his nails-," Sirius said.

"-We'll do it for him!" He and James said together.

"Come on guys," Peter moaned. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," James and Sirius said, before the former blinked behind his glasses and looked at Remus. "Sorry what were we talking about before this?"

"I was asking why you think Sirius is the best choice to act as your wingman on this date. And you said because I have exams to worry about – which I do," Remus said. His words were muffled somewhat as he was holding his quill between his teeth, but James still heard.

James clicked his fingers in recollection. "Ah, yes! What's more, you heard Sirius: he's bored being stuck in here." A smirk formed on James' face. "Gotta take your dog for walkies, right?"

"At least twice a day," Sirius laughed.

"Hmm," Remus said. "Well at least with him gone I can get some work done."

"Aw," Sirius turned to him and grinned. "You know you'll miss me, Remus."

He chuckled. "Just be a good dog for James, all right?"

In response, Sirius sat up on his knees, held up his hands like dog's paws and stuck out his tongue whilst making panting noises. He then rose, and clapped Remus on the back before barrelling towards the door.

"I've never seen him move so bloody fast," Peter laughed.

"Me neither," James said. "But I guess that's my cue to face the music."

"Good luck," Remus smiled.

"Honestly," James turned to the others as he reached the door. "At this point I'm more nervous about whatever Sirius'll say or do than the actual date."

"You'll be fine," Peter assured him.

James shot him a lop-sided grin. It was really strange how five minutes of nonsensical conversation with his friends practically erased whatever nerves he'd initially had about his date with Lily, without them even trying.

"You know what? I reckon you're right."

"Don't mess it up!" Remus called after him when he left. "Merlin knows after so many years of you pining after Lily we all want you two to be together as much as you do."

"Here, here," Peter laughed.

James' head re-appeared in the doorway. "I won't," he said with a small wink before disappearing from sight again. He really meant those words. For his friends as much as for himself, he wasn't going to let Lily slip through his fingers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **As always, thank you for reading :D


	10. DracoHermione

**A/N: **A Oneshot developed from Dramione Drabble 2 and 6 :) Considering this was Dramione, I had so much trouble overcoming writer's block when I was doing this. I don't know why... probably because I'm simultaneously working on about three Dramione fics at the moment so the creative juices weren't flowing as well as usual. I hope it doesn't show in my writing, and I hope you enjoy it.

Inspired by _Last Kiss_ by Taylor Swift (don't own that either). I thought it fit nicely with the plot and pairing, but give it a listen sometime - it's such a sad but beautiful song!

* * *

><p>Word count: 3,218<p>

Genre: Romance/Angst

**Written for:**** QLFC rnd 9 (Harpies, Beater 2) **[Draco holding something back (Hermione in my fic's case); possible; "People wait around too long for love. I'm happy with all of my lusts" – C JoyBell C]; **Secret Battle comp rnd 3 **[Character inclined to the light, romance genre, hope, love, stars, happiness, sugar, sweet, light, lust, life]; **HP Chapter comp **[Draco's Detour - Draco - wandering]; **Birthday comp **[February - Zodiac - indecisive]; **Hunger Games comp **[Alma Coin - someone making bad decisions]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Holding On; Letting Go<strong>

_Hope it's nice where you are…_

_I hope the sun shines, and it's a beautiful day,_

_Something reminds you, you wish you had stayed._

_You can plan for a change in weather and time,_

_But I never planned on you changing your mind…_

- Last Kiss, Taylor Swift

XXX

Draco's grey eyes were cast on the raindrops running down the windowpane, but they were vacant and unseeing. The winter sun was only just rising so the stars were still faintly visible in the bleak sky. He had not long woken, and flashes of his most recent dream were swirling through his mind as his brain started to wake up and adjust to the new day.

It'd been one of those incredibly vivid dreams that left him momentarily confused and disorientated when he woke up. He'd been so convinced that what played out in his subconscious thoughts had been real, and now he was in a bad mood. Already. He glanced at his pocket watch: six a.m. – must be a new record.

He often woke up 'on the wrong side of the bed', as the Muggle expression went; but Draco knew it was his own fault. He could never sleep at night for fear that he'd end up dreaming of Hermione, whom he'd broken up with a few months ago. But at the same time being awake seemed like a curse, as well. Now that Hermione no longer lived at the Manor with him, everything he'd once considered a haven – a sanctuary – now seemed to mock him with an omnipresent feeling of emptiness. She wasn't cuddled up on the sofa with him watching those faint stars that Draco now looked at like she had been in his dream. She wasn't in the Manor, or indeed the country, at all.

He really loved her, and he'd let her go for that same reason. To make matters worse: he didn't realise this was his true reasoning until she'd already walked away… until it was too late.

Draco scoffed at the painful irony of it all and brought his cup of coffee to his lips. Given that he'd been running on three hours sleep every night for so many weeks he practically lived off the stuff. He grimaced when the liquid hit his tongue. He never took any sugar in it but the bitter taste never seemed quite as strong as it did now than when Hermione was around. Draco would even go as far as to say it tasted sweet usually, but not anymore. In some ways the bitterness he tasted was rather aptly referenced his current emotional state.

He just held the coffee in his mouth as his mind continued to wander. Even though thinking of Hermione ate him up inside, he couldn't block her from his thoughts altogether. With each passing day the memories seemed more detached, like Draco was the viewer instead of an active role: like they weren't his memories. In some ways that made him feel better, but in others, he just knew it was because he was slowly forgetting her.

And that meant she was forgetting him too.

It took a lot of effort for Draco to swallow the coffee after that thought crossed his mind. He knew it was pathetic to be still hurting, but he couldn't help it. After all, the reason for the split had nothing to do with either of them falling out of love. On the contrary, when it happened they'd been inexplicably _in_ love, and Draco had to let Hermione go in order to protect that.

He slammed the mug onto the table in front of him and sharply rose from the sofa before absently walking towards the library, which was (unsurprisingly) Hermione's favourite room in the house. In fact, Draco half-expected to find her curled up in that old leather armchair she'd persuaded him not to throw out because it was the only thing in the house that she found remotely made for comfort-over-style. She'd have a book in her hands when he entered the room, and he'd be greeted by her smile. Draco did indeed come face to face with the armchair... but it was empty.

He was hit with a sense of déja-vu as his stomach knotted up at the sight of the empty chair; it took him back to the day when he finally faced the music three months ago. He'd experienced the same thing then: walked into the library expecting to seeHermione curled up in that old leather armchair reading (or rather, _re_-reading) a book from the dusty shelves. He hoped that she'd look up and smile with that twinkle in her eye that he loved so much when she heard his footsteps, but the reality of the situation had been vastly different:

There was no twinkle of light in her eyes that day; no smile on her face and nor did she even look at him. Her expression was dull and clouded as she stared vacantly out of the window into the sunny gardens. Draco's stomach knotted up in the same way it'd done just now at the sight.

Anyone could easily assume that Hermione's detached presence was down to her being lost in her own thoughts, but by then Draco knew that this was just a fall-back excuse to rely on when he'd rather not face the ugly truth of the fact that it was all his doing. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye anymore whether either of them wanted to admit it aloud or not. They were both stubborn, so Draco knew the latter scenario was unlikely, but in some ways he needed her to say something. That way, there'd be no delaying the inevitable, and he'd have the incentive to grow a pair and let her go.

He knew that was what she wanted, because whilst she was still with him she couldn't live her dream. He'd been holding her back. He was the reason she shut herself in this room every day and the reason she'd gone into herself like that. Draco shouldn't have been all that surprised, really. After all, what he'd done was the equivalent to clipping a bird's wings. He'd prevented Hermione from being fully flighted and from exploring the world; if he kept her caged up with him, she'd only start to resent him.

Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, had offered Hermione a job working abroad for a year. She'd be stationed in wizarding Africa helping poverty-stricken families by introducing house-elves into the communities, and building shelters and water facilities. Her eyes practically lit up at the news, which didn't come as much of a surprise to Draco, who knew that as much as she loved her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she always dreamed of making more of an impact on the world. And that was her chance.

Of course Draco's stomach dropped at the mention of 'a year', and dropped further still when he realised there was no way he could go with her, having own work commitments of his own. It was the age-old choice: career, or love. Where Hermione Granger was concerned, that seemed like a waste of a question; of course she'd take the job. But instead, she left the final decision to Draco, which shocked him greatly.

Despite the fact that Draco had a reputation of being selfish and spoiled, the decision wasn't as easy to make as he'd anticipated. Of course his natural impulse had been to ask her to stay, and the fact that Hermione had been undecided made him believe that on some level, she wanted him to ask her to stay, too. It suggested that she loved him, and that wasn't something Draco had been willing to sacrifice easily.

After the war, he spiralled into a really low place, and for quite a while he didn't allow himself to interact with that many people, knowing that he'd just end up hurting someone like he always did. He thought he was either unworthy or incapable of love, which suited him just fine. Of course he'd have liked a wife and a proper family, but Draco could just never envision himself in such a traditional and perfect mental picture when his past was so tainted with darkness.

That was, until Hermione stumbled (quite literally) back into his life. Merlin knew that they'd had no problem exposing their less favourable qualities to one another in the past, and that certainly didn't change once they became a couple. They continued to argue even when they were together, but that's just what they did. And Draco realised that falling in love wasn't always so textbook and perfect as everyone made it out to be; that the 'light bulb moment' didn't always come at cliché times like after a first kiss. In fact, Draco had first noticed his feelings for Hermione during the middle of an argument. She always got so wound up about the tiniest things, but that meant she was passionate, and Draco was quite attracted to that quality.

Their whole relationship had been imperfect and unconventional, and that's exactly what Draco needed to have confidence that even the most damaged people could find happiness. Though he didn't realise it at the time, he'd been learning to truly love her, and it was ultimately this that led him to telling Hermione to stay. He couldn't go back to being the empty, lonely person he was before after experiencing real love. He'd even go as far as to admit that he'd been _afraid_ of going back to such a dark place (though never out loud).

Of course Draco felt guilty for essentially taking Hermione's dreams away, but that was the one time in his life where he thought he was truly entitled to be selfish. Hermione seemed perfectly content with his decision when he told her, but in the months leading up to the day they split, it was obvious that she'd realised she wanted the job instead.

As Draco stood looking at her subdued countenance all those months ago, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd never seen it before; the signs were so obvious. Perhaps it was just because he'd chosen not to see how unhappy Hermione was becoming, and how that fire he hated to love had been dwindling by the day. If he'd taken a picture of her since he asked her to stay, anyone (Muggles included) would have been able to see how the smile faded eventually.

The day he'd walked into the library three months ago was the day Draco had finally noticed. He knew if he didn't resolve the situation quickly then he'd end up losing her for good; she'd grow to resent him for being so selfish, and he couldn't let that happen, so he told her she should take the job, that he knew he was the thing holding her back whether she cared to admit it or not.

Draco had given her up so she could be happy; he did have good in him. Somewhere. He could only hope that his act of selflessness hadn't been too late, and that Hermione would still love him when she returned nine months from now. He swore he'd wait for her so he could find out the answer to that question, but –

"Drakey?"

His whole body tensed as the unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the Manor from the floor above. He darted out of the library as soon as he heard footsteps; there was no way he was having _her_ – whatever her name was – coming in here, where Hermione's presence still seemed so tangible.

When he left the library, his eyes immediately fell on a blonde woman. Draco didn't even attempt to cover up his disgusted expression; everything about her was wrong. Her hair was too full of product, as was her face, and her skin. There was nothing natural about her at all… She was nothing like Hermione, and that sickened him.

It did cross Draco's mind that he may have selected this woman to bring home the previous night for precisely that reason: she was nothing like Hermione, so he had no reason to think about her. Except all he did was think about her, just like he had with the woman the night before, and the night before that…

Ever since Draco lost the very thing he'd been inadvertently craving for so many years, the loneliness he felt after Hermione left was almost twice as painful to cope with as it had been before they ever became a couple. Because before Hermione, Draco didn't know what he'd been missing out on. He dealt with it in the only way he knew how, and reverted back to his old playboy ways. He often sought comfort in random women, rarely bothering to learn their names, and always regretted it come morning.

In his late teens and early twenties, Draco had fully embraced the bachelor lifestyle, conceding that he of all people would have a longer wait for love than most others. He'd been happy with all of his lusts then, but not anymore. Even though he was still in a position where he was waiting for love, this didn't feel right, because his heart wasn't in it. His heart was with Hermione in Africa, and he hoped with every fibre of his being that she had left hers with him.

Despite the fact that they weren't together anymore, Draco always felt like he was cheating on Hermione with these random girls, but she hadn't asked him to wait for her; that had been his own decision. Maybe there was just some part of him that held futile optimism that it was possible for her to return earlier than planned so she could hold him in her arms again. But deep down he knew that Hermione Granger rarely ever changed her mind once it was made up. Hell, maybe Draco was continuously 'cheating' because he didn't plan on her changing her mind either…

At least that meant they were finally on the same page.

"Were you trying to hide from me?"

Draco was pulled from his thoughts again by the blonde. She cooed at him in a sickeningly flirty voice – honestly, was there anything _not_ fake about this woman? – and wagged a finger at him in mock-disappointment.

"Yes," Draco said coldly. It was a lie; he'd just been aimlessly wandering around the Manor, but he hoped that insulting this woman would coax her to leave.

"Aww," the blonde witch pouted. She wrapped her arms around Draco's neck, and he wrinkled up his nose as her strong perfume attacked his nostrils. The smell was nothing like Hermione's natural floral scent; a scent that this walking cosmetic advert had probably permanently erased from his bed sheets.

"Have I done something wrong?" Orange – Draco had decided to call her that now since she both stank of and had the same skin colour as an orange – cooed again in her sickly sweet voice. (Draco almost wished for his bitter coffee now.)

"Yes," Draco repeated in the same icy tone.

Orange seemed to take this as a suggestive invitation, which just angered Draco more. She just ran her orange fingers through his hair and whispered into his ear: "Well, I'd better make it up to you."

That's when he snapped, and pushed her away. "Merlin, woman, have some self-respect."

She seemed bemused by his comment. "Are you kidding me? Since when did Draco Malfoy get a conscience?"

"Since today apparently," Draco drawled, arching an eyebrow and piercing her with cold eyes.

Orange scoffed and folded her arms. "Is there any need to be so rude to a lady?"

"You might want to look in a mirror before you call yourself that," he replied in a monotone voice.

Orange bristled, and powder poofed out of her nostrils like a bull when she flared them. Draco would have laughed if he weren't in such a bad mood.

"How dare you, you bloody –"

"Save it," Draco said. "I've heard all the insults before."

"Malfoy!" Orange screeched angrily as he turned his back on her.

"Just get out," he sighed. "And don't bother coming back."

He heard Orange huff and stomp back up the stairs in her six-inch heels, all the while cursing under her breath. He didn't give her a second thought, and slunk back into the library and over to the old armchair. He gnawed his cheek in deliberation for a while before finally deciding to curl up in it so his left cheek was pressed against the worn leather. He inhaled deeply, where subtle hints of Hermione floated into his senses and soothed his tense body and hazy thoughts.

Only when he heard the door slam, and the deafening silence rang around the room did he finally let a tear escape. He didn't want the life full of the Oranges of the world anymore, but he was a weak person, and weak people did things like that for their own selfish needs when they couldn't cope with being alone.

Draco wiped angrily at his eyes and silently berated himself then. He wasn't weak. In fact he considered himself – especially as a Malfoy – as being incredibly strong for not continuing to hold Hermione back, and letting her go. That was possibly the most selfless thing he'd ever done in his life, and the only reason he'd been reluctant to begin with was because he felt like he'd already experienced enough loneliness to last a lifetime. By no means did Draco consider himself a good person now, but he was definitely inclined to be, when it mattered.

Hermione most certainly did matter do him; it was just a shame it wasn't possible to tell if she hated him, or if she genuinely understood why he held onto her in the first place. She must know; she left him with the casting vote, after all.

As her scent continued to permeate the air, Draco felt his agitation and stress ease, and his eyelids grew heavy. He mumbled vacantly to himself as he let his eyes fall shut, his mind creating mental images of Hermione being there with him to accompany the smell.

"I love you…"

And then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he managed to conjure up her voice whispering back, "I love you too."

After that, Draco fell into a rare peaceful sleep in the armchair, unaware that the voice had been real.

Hermione stood in front of the fireplace watching him from the foyer. She'd been given a fortnight off for the holidays and had immediately flooed to the Manor without thinking. There were so many things she regretted and wished she could change about how she'd handled the whole situation. A mere two weeks in Africa had enlightened her, and she realised exactly how difficult the decision must have been for Draco to make in the first place, let alone him changing it for her sake later on. She'd been selfish too by not being more compassionate, but at the time the job seemed like the best thing in the world, so she did consider Draco a roadblock. But she knew much better now. She knew he loved her, and she loved him just as much.

There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn't want to disturb him.

When Draco woke up several hours later, Hermione and a cup of black, sugarless coffee greeted him…

He'd never tasted anything sweeter.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading! :)


	11. SeamusLavender

**A/N: **This is set during DH while the trio were Horcrux-hunting. I'm quite pleased with how it turned out - let me know what you think!

Warning: some descriptions are detailed and kind of dark.

Genre: Drama

Word count: 1310

**Written for:**** Last Man Standing comp rnd 2 **[Canon/ could-be canon]; **Hunger Games style comp training round **[anything]; **Hunger Games trilogy comp **[D11 - public punishment]; **Disney comp **[Mushu - Seamus]; **HP Chapter comp **[Goblin's Revenge - Hogwarts during DH]; **Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[impetuous]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Impetuous Defiance<strong>

_Seamus/Lavender_

'_I don't care, go on and tear me apart. I don't care if you do.' – Sky Full of Stars, Coldplay_

XXX

"Therefore, any witch or wizard who marries a Muggle is not only degrading his or herself, but he or she is also committing to producing_ filthy_ half-breed children, thereby harming future magical generations, and insulting the values that the great Salazar Slytherin strived for." Alecto finished her lecture, sucking in her protruding gut as she drew a long, satisfied breath before expelling it. "Is that something you want to happen, children?"

The way she looked every single one of the seventh-years in the eye individually made her question seem more like a challenge. She knew none of them would have the guts to say anything; her invitation was just another way to prove that she - therefore Voldemort - owned every single one of them. And there was nothing they could do about it.

Seamus, convinced that her cold eyes scrutinised him the longest, glowered at her. Beside him, Neville felt Seamus tense.

'_Don't do anything stupid, Sea,' _he implored his friend silently, not daring to breathe a word out loud lest one of the Carrows somehow hear him.

The classroom fell eerily silent, as if each student was holding his or her breath too, wondering if anyone would dare defy Alecto Carrow.

A scrape of a chair and the sudden bang of fist punching desk made everyone jump. Several pairs of eyes looked at Seamus with nervous anticipation and shock. Neville just winced and shrank down a little in his chair. He fixed his eyes pointedly at the desk, too afraid to watch what was about to happen.

"Why shouldn't it happen?" Seamus shrugged almost nonchalantly as he stared Alecto dead in her angry and dangerous eyes. His defiance had been an impulsive and impetuous move, but there was only so much vile propaganda he could take. In a way he felt as if he was speaking on behalf of everyone at this point.

Alecto sneered viciously. "_Because_, Mr Finnigan," her cold, condescending words sliced the air, "Muggles are inferior to wizards and produce inept and uncouth children… like you."

"What would ye say if yer Master had some 'o' tha' Muggle blood within 'im too, Ma'am?" Seamus spat in his Irish lilt. "I'm just supposin', o' course."

He played it off as an innocent musing, but Alecto wasn't convinced. She shrieked in anger, her bulging eyes flared. Seamus gripped his wand tightly in his pocket. He could swear he was drawing blood as his half-bitten nails dug into the flesh of his palm, but he remained determined not to show emotion. His heart twitched painfully as he caught the wide and frightened eyes of Lavender in his peripheral vision, but he was determined not to look away from Alecto.

Every student was yet to draw breath as they waited to see what would happen next. The year had barely begun but it was already common knowledge that the Carrows relished their positions as disciplinarians.

"Amycus!" Alecto bellowed, still staring into Seamus' scornful blue eyes. Her brother looked up from his place at the back of the room. "You know what to do."

Seamus braced himself, but nothing happened; Amycus had disappeared from the room.

Seamus guessed that he'd gone to fetch some kind of torture device from Filch, but Amycus appeared holding a terrified first year girl by her collar instead.

He shoved her towards Alecto, who spun the girl to face Seamus and gripped her shoulders hard with talon-like nails. The girl's lip quivered; her tear-stained cheeks glistened in the narrow shafts of light illuminating the classroom through the grey clouds outside.

"You are familiar with the Cruciatus Curse, Mr Finnigan?" Alecto smiled sadistically.

"What?" Seamus was as horrified as the rest of the class.

"SILENCE!" Alecto barked, shooting a stinging jinx at random. It hit Lavender, who immediately began shrieking in pain. Alecto paid her no heed, and her smile grew wider still when she saw Seamus' nostrils flare angrily at Lavender's torment.

"Torture this little whelp, Finnigan. NOW!" Alecto bared her rotting teeth in a feral grin.

The girl whimpered. This sound coupled with Lavender's screams chilled Seamus to the bone.

"I'd rather swallow broken glass," he growled.

"Very well," Alecto pushed the girl away with so much force that she fell to the floor. The Carrows laughed, and by this point Seamus had had enough. He marched out from behind his desk and helped the girl to her feet, ushering her towards the door.

This only added fuel to the fire. Alecto drew her wand in front of Seamus as he heard Amycus do the same behind him. He was trapped.

"_CRUCIO!"_

"_VOLNUS!"_

A deafening scream rang in Seamus' head: another student's, he initially presumed. Soon, he realised it was his own, but the animalistic growl being ripped from his throat sounded nothing like him.

All coherent thought was lost when his knees buckled and he began writhing on the stone floor helplessly. It felt like a giant was crumpling him up in one mighty fist, crushing him and contracting his muscles, causing them to convulse and spasm. The agonizing sensation was endless. Merciless. Excruciating.

Lavender's scream grew louder and created a chilling harmony with his. He couldn't hear anything else from the blood that was practically screaming in his ears as it pumped through him rapidly. Seamus' body felt like it was on fire, but his bones felt icy and brittle, ready to snap at any moment. One of his arms flailed outwards and his nails dug into the wet ground.

Wet…?

Seamus snapped his head to the side and realised he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Summoning his dwindling strength to lift his head and keep his eyes open, he looked down and saw that his arms were covered in large gashes and lacerations. His angry, red flesh screamed along with him.

His head fell, collided with the stone with a deafening crack. The pain of this was nothing in comparison to the unrelenting, torturous waves. For the first time, pain seemed like a tangible thing. It was as if this feeling was all Seamus had known his whole life, when in fact, his punishment had only lasted ten seconds by this point.

Screams. Cackles. Fire and ice. Ripping flesh. Blood. It was all too much. Even as the world went black, Seamus didn't cry. He _refused _to cry…

* * *

><p>He woke hours later in the Hospital Wing: suffering, bandaged… but alive. And there was Lavender in the bed beside him, a bandage covering her left eye.<p>

"Sea," she whimpered, as a tear fell from her other one.

"It's okay, Lav," Seamus reassured her in a scratchy voice, knowing he probably looked like Hell. His throat felt like it'd been sealed shut with cement. "I wasn't about to let 'em punish that first year on my account."

With immense effort, Seamus reached across to Lavender's bed, where she met him in the middle and laced her fingers between his. She soon drifted off to sleep after that, and Seamus was left alone with his thoughts.

He partly didn't care that the Carrows punished him so harshly. He'd proved that they didn't own him; that he wasn't going to _be_ controlled without a fight. If he could affect them so much alone, he could only imagine what was possible if Dumbledore's Army reformed. Seamus made a mental note to bring this up to Neville or Ginny when he next saw them, but then sighed as the implications of this plan came to light: Dumbledore's Army _needed_ to reform, because this was going to be life now.

After that, the realisations just kept on coming:

Freedom of speech didn't exist.

Sadistic punishments were going to become the norm. Not just for Seamus: for everyone.

If anything he'd just given the Carrows cause to dole out crueller penalties despite his best intentions of showing them up.

Damn it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading! :)

*_Volnus_ was a spell I made up. It translates from Latin: 'to wound' or 'to slash'.


	12. RemusSirius

**A/N: **I'm just going to say this now: this was incredibly rushed and was written in about half an hour so excuse the fact that this is... well, rushed. The professor in this doesn't have a name because of my haste, so apologies for that xD

Written for the Last Man Standing comp (week 3) [Romance]; Pairing Diversity Bootcamp [smugness]; Hunger Games comp: [Madge Undersee; taking credit for someone else's work]; Disney comp [Bambi's Mother - write about a character (or character_s_ in this case) whose death saddened you]

It was probably an insane idea to write a fic with a pairing I've never written (wolfstar) and poetry when I needed to do this speedily. What was I thinking? ;P

* * *

><p><span><strong>Homework<strong>

_Remus/Sirius_

"Now, who's going to volunteer to read out their homework?" the portly Muggle Studies professor scanned the room with beady eyes, and everyone seemed to shrink down in their seats to avoid 'volunteering' (which roughly translated to mean: someone was going to get picked on). "Hmm, Mr Black, how about you?"

Sirius had been possibly the one student who hadn't shrunk back; mainly because he'd been busy aiming a slingshot at the back of a Slytherin boy's head at the time. "What?" he spluttered, accidentally releasing the weapon in his shocked state. The gobstone the pouch had been holding flew across the room and slammed into the blackboard when the Slytherin ducked.

"You heard me," the professor said coolly. "Come to the front and read out your homework for the class."

Everyone peered to look at the teacher as if she was crazy, and collectively shared one thought: Did she honestly think that _Sirius Black_ had bothered to do homework?

Suffice it to say, there were many shocked expressions when Sirius calmly withdrew a piece of parchment from his pocket and walked to the front of the room with an unmistakeable air of smugness about him.

"Psst."

Remus turned to see James frowning at him. "Yeah?"

"Has he lost it?" James asked. "I mean, him doing an essay would be one thing, but _poetry_? _A sonnet_?"

Remus just shrugged; he was just as surprised as James was. Still, he gazed upon Sirius with interest, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest when the scruffy-haired boy cast warm grey eyes upon him before they looked downwards at the parchment in his hand. The whole class listened intently as Sirius cleared his throat and began to read:

* * *

><p>"<em>I get a strange feeling when I think of you<em>

_That's caused butterflies and many a sleepless night._

_The dreaded L-word is the cause of my plight,_

_But I just don't know what to do._

.

_As close as the card and the chocolate frog,_

_We're best friends through and through._

_I shouldn't be having these feelings for you_

_When you can be as annoying as fleas for a dog..."_

* * *

><p>"Well slap me with Merlin's pants and call me Susan," James commented, looking very bemused. "I was at least expecting him to have written something that took the piss out of Snivellu..." he cleared his throat when he realised Lily was listening. "One of the professors," he corrected. "He's written poetry for homework <em>and<em> taken it seriously? I think a little intervention's in order for old Padfoot; he's been spending way too much time with Moony lately. I need to get him pranking again. We've really been slacking off this week; only three detentions."

"Oh hush, James," Lily whispered. "I find this new side to him quite refreshing actually, considering what a Lothario he usually presents himself as."

"And doesn't that make you think something fishy's going on?" James asked.

Lily just shrugged, unable to hide her smile when she looked at Remus, who was completely caught up in Sirius' words.

For some reason, the tawny-haired boy got the impression that Sirius had written the poem with him in mind. That is, if the small glances Sirius kept stealing at him were anything to go by. Remus hung on to his every word, his heart thumping madly in his chest.

* * *

><p><em>"I've been wondering whether to tell you<em>

_But I'm sure you have no idea._

_My doubt is only backed up by my fear_

_That there's someone better for you._

_ ._

_Having played life safe for far too long,_

_I'll take this risk and say: with me is where you belong."_

* * *

><p>The whole class sat in a shocked silence for a while, before breaking out into thunderous applause. Sirius grinned and bowed deeply before swaggering back to his seat.<p>

Something seemed to click inside Remus' head when Sirius finished speaking, and his affectionate daze broke, making him focus again. He'd heard that poem somewhere before...

With a frown, Remus dug through his bag and brought took out his own homework and scanned it.

It was identitcal; line by line. And he'd written it with Sirius in mind.

"You cheeky tosser," he whispered under his breath, glancing sideways at Sirius, who just winked in return.

Remus blushed and shook his head. Funnily enough, he couldn't bring himself to be angry.


	13. CaitlynSophia

**A/N: **This is something very different; set in 1771 and revolving around two OCs. I'm a bit miffed about the fact I had a max word count to stick to. This really wasn't how I was planning on this fic turning out (that is, the stuff I've written was all planned, but there was meant to be an extra bit at the start and end that would've totally changed the vibe and made it better, making the title 'Found, and Lost' instead, but I ran out of time...) *sigh*

Word count: 3264

**Written for:** **QLFC rnd 11 (Harpies Beater 2)** [Set in 1771 - a school day - (poem) Indeed, Indeed I Cannot Tell - Henry David Thoreau]; **Disney comp** [Periwinkle - siblings find each other again/ first time]; **HP Chapter comp** [GoF - The Triwizard Tournament - someone entering their name]; **Butteflygirly's Quote comp** [sad, family - The boughs, without becoming detached from the trunk grow away from it." ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Lost and Found<strong>

_Indeed indeed, I cannot tell, _

_Though I ponder on it well, _

_Which were easier to state, _

_All my love or all my hate. _

**XXX**

_**31**__**st**__** October 1771**_

The Slytherin dormitories were dark and gloomy when Caitlyn Elwood woke up. Being housed in the depths of the Black Lake, she was used to this; however the days were becoming increasingly short, so it still felt like the middle of the night. Suffice it to say, Caitlyn didn't feel like getting up, and adamantly snuggled herself further under the duvet.

Her bliss lasted for all of five minutes until she was smacked in the head with a pillow.

"Get up, lazybones," her roommate and best friend shouted across the room.

"Shove off, Connie," Caitlyn mumbled groggily, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. "I was up until two a.m. doing that Charms essay."

The sound of creaking bedsprings rang through the room as Connie stood up. She walked over to a mirror and started to clip her hair up, speaking to Caitlyn through a mouthful of grips. "Why did it take you so long?"

"I could barely read my parchment half the time," Caitlyn said. She then scoffed to herself, wondering why on earth there was no charm in existence that could produce light. Maybe then she could have avoided feeling like a troll this morning and gotten a decent amount of sleep.

"Hurry up, Caitlyn. I'm starving," Connie said as she secured her black bonnet over her head and tied the emerald-coloured straps under her chin.

"All right, all right," Caitlyn sighed, conceding that she couldn't stall any longer. Not even bothering to walk into the bathroom to get changed, she pulled her nightgown off over her head and swiftly replaced it with her uniform: a white shirt and house tie followed by a restrictive black pinafore dress.

"Ugh, I hate these things," she scowled as she finally got her head through the proper hole in the garment. "There's zero elbow room to get your arms through; it's like a bloody battle. It'd be much nicer to wear breeches like the boys."

Connie's nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Honestly Caitlyn, don't you have a girly bone in your body?"

Caitlyn pursed her lips in thought as she pulled up her knee-length woollen socks and buckled her shoes. "I don't think so," she admitted. "The last time I did something girly was…" her voice trailed off as a particular memory drifted through her head. Caitlyn sniffed and blinked it away, not wanting to think of _her_. "… Years ago," she finished.

Connie rolled her eyes stepped aside so Caitlyn could use the mirror. She examined her reflection with a slight grimace; her dirty-blonde hair was horribly tangled and messy, but she was already late enough as it is so didn't bother to try and brush it. "I have long hair," she commented as she shoved her bonnet over the knotted mass. "Does that count as being girly?"

Connie laughed. "Please, that Neanderthal of a teacher from Durmstrang has hair that reaches his arse; long hair does not equate to girly."

Caitlyn shrugged. "Worth a shot. Now let's go down to breakfast."

"What's left of it," Connie said dryly, following Caitlyn out of the dormitory, through the common room and out into the Entrance Hall, where the usual crowd was milling around the pedestal on which the Goblet of Fire stood.

"How is that thing still attracting so much attention?" Caitlyn scoffed. "Isn't this the last day for entering your name?"

"Oh that's right," Connie exclaimed. "After classes there's the Halloween feast and the Champions selection," her blue eyes glazed over as she began to daydream about what was to come that evening. Caitlyn smiled affectionately and shook her head before turning her attention back to the goblet. A group of Beauxbatons students were huddled around it, and cheered raucously when one member of the group placed her name into the cup in a particularly deliberate and snobbish manner.

"Oh give me a break," Caitlyn rolled her eyes.

The Beauxbatons girls exchanged bemused glances and giggled. The brunette girl who had entered her name advanced to the front of the pack and faced Caitlyn. She folded her arms and cocked her hip out to the side, and began silently challenging Caitlyn to enter her name also, as if not putting yourself up for almost certain death was something to be mocked.

Well, Caitlyn certainly wasn't going to stand for that. She harboured a generic hatred for all things French, and had done ever since her little sister had decided to move to France with her estranged father five years ago; but the fact that the Beauxbatons girl bore such a likeness to Sophia just infuriated Caitlyn even more.

Potential for eternal glory seemed vastly more appealing now that it came with the bonus of showing up a group of uptight French girls. Caitlyn just saw it as a means to indirectly score a point against her father, and her sister for that matter. Her innate Slytherin need to prove herself couldn't really turn down the opportunity.

Caitlyn swiftly ripped a length of parchment off the bottom of her completed Charms essay, and held it high. She smirked as the brunette girl bristled at her unspoken acceptance of her challenge, and plunged her hand into her satchel.

"Hey Connie, can I borrow a quill and some ink?" she asked when she realised she must have left her equipment sitting on the table in the common room.

"But…" Connie turned her head towards the Great Hall. "Food."

Caitlyn sighed. "Noah will have something on him. He always does," she said simply. She beckoned for the equipment urgently with her outstretched hand.

Connie looked at her friend and gasped, suddenly realising why Caitlyn needed her quill. "You can't enter the Tournament!"

"Why not?" Caitlyn asked.

"You're sixteen! People have died in these things before, you know?"

Admittedly, Caitlyn's stomach lurched uncomfortably at the comment; there _was_ a reason why she'd avoided submitting her name until now, after all. But she felt like she couldn't back down. Not now.

"There's no age restriction," she dismissed with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

Caitlyn did feel a little bad when she saw the blatant worry appear in Connie's eyes, but she remained persistent, and eventually she had a quill and a pot of ink in her hands. She hurried over to the wall and pressed the parchment against it before scrawling her name and school onto it. After that, she stuck her nose in the air and pushed through the bewildered Beauxbatons girls.

Stretching onto her tiptoes, Caitlyn took a deep breath and dropped the parchment into the flames. She was suddenly overcome with a sense of disappointment, like she'd been anticipating some kind of great rush of adrenaline or triumph. It was like the feeling she woke up with on her last few birthdays… only, without the sense of impending doom entering her name had brought on.

All of her bravado lost, she staggered back towards Connie. "Look, you can go have breakfast without me. I'm not so hungry anymore," she said.

Connie sighed and rolled her eyes. She was clearly unhappy that Caitlyn had kept her waiting for essentially no reason at all. Caitlyn didn't have the heart to brood on that, though, and sloped off to Transfiguration.

* * *

><p>"Miss Elwood?"<p>

"Mm?" Caitlyn grunted as she reluctantly turned her head to the front of the class, where the new Transfiguration teacher – Professor Grahams – was looking at her sternly.

Though it was her first N.E.W.T year, Caitlyn couldn't help but rebel against the man in this class. It just hadn't been the same since Professor Derwent (the previous headmistress and Transfiguration professor) died three years ago. She actually made the difficult subject _fun_, whereas Professor Grahams wouldn't understand such a concept if it thwacked him like a Bludger into one of the Quidditch baskets.

Then Caitlyn began to giggle, finding the mental image of the portly professor being stuffed into such a cramped space thirty feet in the air incredibly entertaining.

"Care to explain why you have been daydreaming instead of concentrating on turning your plate into a mushroom?"

Caitlyn's expression immediately dropped, and she simply shrugged in response, not really wanting to explain to the entire class that her sister had been at the forefront of her thoughts. This was mainly because… well, nobody actually _knew_ she had a sister. As far as Caitlyn was concerned, she hadn't had a sister since she decided to leave with their father. Being only eight at the time, there was really no reason why Sophia would have been able to look at the situation objectively or even be wary of their dad's manipulative silver tongue at the time. In short, Caitlyn shouldn't resent her as much as she did. But she and Sophie… they used to be so close: inseparable, in fact. Until their parents started fighting…

"Miss Elwood?" Professor Grahams' face had turned a beet-red. He was evidently angry at her lack of communication.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but decided to hold her tongue, which always had a tendency to spit out venomous comments before her mind could properly think it through. It was a bad trait, and one she'd inherited from Samuel Dubois, her father. She wrinkled her nose up then: _Dubois_. It was such a pretentious-sounding name, and Caitlyn was glad to be rid of it.

"Psst."

Caitlyn looked down when she felt something poke her in the leg under the desk. It was Connie's hand. She was holding a Pumpkin Pasty.

"From Noah," she whispered. "You looked grumpy so he figured you might be hungry."

Caitlyn was about to decline, but then her stomach growled, and she took the pasty gratefully. She leaned across the desk to look across Connie at Noah Grimes: a fellow Slytherin and one of her close friends. Caitlyn smiled and nodded in thanks at him before faking a cough so she could sneak a bite of pasty.

After that, she proceeded to half-heartedly attempt to transfigure her plate to satisfy Professor Grahams, who watched for a while before shaking his head in defeat and walking away to check on the progress of some of the other students. As soon as his muddy eyes left Caitlyn, she put her wand down and resumed staring out of the window.

Her eyes wandered subconsciously over to the forest as Caitlyn followed her previous train of thought again. Maybe it was because 'Elwood' – her last name – translated to mean 'elder tree forest'; or perhaps it was because 'Dubois' – Sophia's last name – means 'from the forest' in French.

Caitlyn sighed. What were the chances that those two names meant the same thing? It was like she still couldn't distance herself from Sophia. They'd been connected by name when their parents were together, and they still were even though Caitlyn was now an Elwood and Sophia remained a Dubois. Well, that was how family worked, wasn't it? You can only grow apart from one another, never truly breaking away. Just like how branches can only ever grow more distant from a tree trunk; unable to become permanently detached.

It wasn't that Caitlyn hated her sister; in fact she often found herself missing her. Though they were always close as children, cracks in their relationship began to form when their parents started arguing. Sophia, too young to perceive which party was in the wrong, was always a daddy's girl, and picked his side. Caitlyn, on the other hand, was shrewd and quickly learned that her father was very controlling. So what if her mum wanted to work extra shifts in the Diagon Alley dressmakers? Common sense determined that this would provide extra income for their family, but apparently her father preferred her mum to stay at home and do all the cooking and cleaning like a 'good little wife'.

Since Sophia obviously had her 'favourite' parent, she'd become upset whenever Caitlyn sided with their mum, and therein laid the problem for them. The girls always picked sides, but it was never the same one. Very soon, parents started to dote on their respective supportive daughter, and a constant competitive tension hung over the Dubois household for several months, until Samuel announced that he was moving to France. He'd taken Sophia with him on the year she and Caitlyn were set to start Hogwarts together, and she hadn't seen her little sister since.

"Merlin's breeches, what the he-?" Caitlyn jumped violently when the bell sounded, signalling the end of the lesson. Had she really been brooding for a whole hour?

"Language, Miss Elwood," Professor Grahams said.

"Whatever," Caitlyn muttered, hastily shoving her wand and pasty into her satchel before leaving for Charms class: a lesson Caitlyn always looked forward to. She was especially relieved to have it on her timetable today; her brain really needed a distraction.

* * *

><p>Before she knew it, double Charms, lunch, Potions and Arithmancy were gone, and Caitlyn was traipsing into the Great Hall with the rest of the staff and students from the three schools. Connie and Noah walked faithfully at her side, stealing nervous glances at her and at each other every so often. Of course they were both pretty smug about their friend, their house and their school potentially winning the Tournamant, but neither of them could bear to think about the alternative, which saw Caitlyn dead or seriously injured by the time the year was over.<p>

None of them were particularly hungry, and picked at their food during the feast. Although, Connie did make a point to stash several decadent treats into her pockets and under her bonnet to save for later, and Caitlyn forced herself to eat and not seem too nervous to put on a confident façade in front of the Beauxbatons snobs.

By the time the food and plates disappeared, she was feeling incredibly nauseous. She did begin to feel less bloated as the speeches and notices progressed, but then the flames of the Goblet of Fire turned red, and suddenly she felt like she needed to throw up again.

The Durmstrang Champion was called first, and Caitlyn watched as a particularly fierce-looking boy stepped forwards. He bowed deeply at the crowd before making his way through to the Trophy Room with a triumphant smirk on his face. Caitlyn gulped; he didn't look like he was any older than fifteen: just one year younger than her. She didn't know if she was ready for this.

"The Hogwarts Champion…" the headmaster boomed. Caitlyn, Connie and Noah all held their breath. Several fleeting heartbeats later, he unfolded the parchment in his hands and read the name. "Caitlyn Elwood."

Caitlyn felt the eyes of every Hogwarts student and professor on her. She didn't really hear the cheering, or feel the congratulatory claps on the back she received as she walked in a daze to the front of the hall. She felt completely numb, and only hoped that she was ready for whatever tasks they were going to throw at her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she was out of sight and in the quiet Trophy Room with the Durmstrang Champion, who didn't even look up when Caitlyn walked in. The silence suited her just fine; she wasn't really in the mood for idle small-talk right now.

She soon decided to look at the positive: that her French opponent would be joining them very shortly. Caitlyn sincerely hoped it would be the snooty brunette who'd silently beckoned her to enter her own name earlier that day…

Footsteps, delicate and quiet, sounded at the top of the staircase. _This is her, _Caitlyn thought. She put on her best false-smirk and turned around so she was facing the entrance, and leant with an air of indifference against the wall. The footsteps became louder as the Beauxbatons Champion descended the stairs, and her figure came into view. Sure enough, she was brunette… but she was not the girl from that morning. She was too petite and too… familiar.

"Sophia?" Caitlyn spluttered as the startled girl entered the room, having just been jolted from her thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Sophia folded her arms and shrugged, "Same as you, apparently."

Caitlyn couldn't help but cringe at the faint French accent that was now present in her sister's voice. Her confident façade forgotten, Caitlyn stared at the other girl, her stomach knotting up. Sophia had definitely grown up since she last saw her, but she was still the Sophia she remembered… in appearance, that is.

All of her body language was cold and distant, very much unlike the bubbly girl who used to braid Caitlyn's hair and give her makeovers against her will. The intent in Sophia's eyes was crystal clear; she'd entered this Tournament to win – in many senses of the word.

"Did Dad put you up to this?" Caitlyn found herself shouting, a bubble of fury bursting out of her mouth. "You aren't ready for this, Sophia. You're _thirteen_!" Why the heck was there no age restriction for this Tournament?!

_'People have died in these things before...' _her stomach knotted tighter still as she recalled Connie's earlier words. A horrible image of Sophie's dead body quickly flashed through Caitlyn's head, and she blinked away her own tears.

"Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do, Caitlyn?" Sophia, alive and well, snapped Caitlyn back to reality. "I don't even know you anymore."

Caitlyn flinched. That comment stung. Badly.

"Well, you would if you hadn't left with _him_!"

"You never even gave him a chance, Caitlyn!"

"And you never gave Mum one," she hissed, her shock and brief moment of melancholy from seeing her long-lost sister again now behind her. Grudges and bitterness had apparently matured over time, and it was clear that Sophia wanted to win the Tournament for their dad's sake, not her own.

"I was eight!" Sophia yelled. "I didn't know what was going on. I – I needed you but you pushed me away just because I went to Dad instead of Mum."

That's when Caitlyn noticed them; the tears that started to fill Sophia's blue eyes. Completely against her will, her heart squeezed in sympathy and her body was moving forwards before her brain could protest, and soon she was hugging her sister again. Even now, after all this time, Sophia still felt the same in her arms. And that was enough for Caitlyn to accept the fact that she still loved Sophia a great deal, even though she'd been convinced she'd hated her.

"Shh, don't be scared," she whispered.

"But you're right Cait," Sophia sniffed. "I'm too young. I'm not ready. I just thought I could show Dad that I could be just as grown-up as he always says you are."

Caitlyn stiffened, and pulled away. She took a moment to silently curse her dad for making Sophia feel inadequate, making Sophia resent her. "He says that?"

Sophia nodded and wiped her eyes. She then looked down at her blue uniform, seemingly realising that she and Caitlyn were no longer one and the same, and took a pace back.

"Sophie," Caitlyn said, pulling her in again. "We can work together, you know, even if we're technically supposed to be against each other."

"I thought that's what you wanted – for us to be opponents," Sophia smiled weakly. "Why else would you enter your name?"

Caitlyn shook her head. "Honestly, I had no idea you were even here. But we can get through this together. I promise."

Sophia arched an eyebrow dubiously at this, not that Caitlyn could blame her; it was going to take a long time for them to get back to how they used to be.

But this was a start.

**XXX**

_O, I hate thee with a hate _

_That would fain annihilate; _

_Yet sometimes against my will, _

_My dear friend, I love thee still. _

Henry David Thoreau

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading :)

_Note_: _In case you thought the line about the Quidditch baskets was out of place, that is correct given the time period I was given. They had baskets attached to the goals instead of just hoops. See, I did my research haha ;) _


	14. LunaRolf

**A/N:** Hey everyone, thanks for the requests! I'll get around to them asap :)

But for now, I hope you enjoy this little one-shot. It's my first attempt at writing Luna so I hope it's okay. Regardless, I had so much fun writing this. It is based around the fairy tale, _Thumbelina _(don't own it) and this idea kinda clicked with it right away! (I'll put a synopsis of the original story at the end for those of you who aren't familiar with it.)

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Written for:<strong>** QLFC rnd 12 (Harpies, Beater 2) **[base around Thumbelina - travel log style - "Revenge is not worthy of you. If you concentrate on revenge, you will keep those wounds fresh that would otherwise have healed." Adeline Yen Mah, Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society]; **Hunger Games comp **[D4 - A Ravenclaw]; **Disney characters comp **[Dumbo - write about Luna]; **HP Chapter comp **[OoTP - Luna Lovegood - write about Luna]; **The Great Maze comp **[entry fic, write about anything]

* * *

><p><span><strong>Little Journal<strong>

_**Date:** 7__th__ October 1998_

_**Location:** On the back of a Natterjack toad, somewhere in Europe._

Hello, little journal; this is my first time writing in you. Daddy said I ought to be logging accounts of my travels in a larger and sturdier book – for practical reasons – but I thought you looked quite lonely sitting on the shelf gathering dust. You looked like you needed an adventure, or at least, a change of scenery. That's all right, because I do too.

Over the past couple of years, I've only ever seen the world as a bleak and dreary warzone. That's over now, but witches and wizards in the UK are still struggling to rehabilitate the happy, beautiful and magical world I grew up in. They're still grieving. They're still trying to come to terms with everything. I've heard that some people are seeking revenge for the losses they suffered, which, in my opinion, will just keep their wounds open for much longer; wounds that would have healed by now if they had just tried to move on and have a fresh start.

That's what I'm doing now. I've decided to go travelling and meet the magical creatures of the world that Daddy has told me about so many times before. I'm trying to look at the world through a new pair of eyes, so that's why I put a Shrinking Charm on both of us, journal. I hope you don't mind.

Oh! The toad has just spotted a blowfly. He's hopping around much faster now, so I'm afraid if I keep writing I'll either drop you or just squiggle all over you, and I'm sure you won't like either of those things to happen. This journey is already so exciting. I wonder where Mr Toad is going to take us…

Oh, by the way, my name is Luna.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date:<strong> 11__th__ October 1998_

_**Location:** On a lily pad, the river Loire._

I hope you don't mind, journal, but I had to find a way to get off the Natterjack. He was headed towards a patch of heathland that seemed to be heavily infested with Wrackspurts. It's lucky that I remembered to pack my Spectrespecs! Since I'm so tiny now I wondered if they'd even be able to float into my ears at all, but I didn't want to take the risk.

Anyway, for the last day or so, I've been floating on a lily pad down this river after the gulping plimpies kindly helped me get off the toad by splashing around in the water and distracting him for a while. I must remember to make sure they're kept safe from being turned into my Dad's famous plimpy soup.

Being so small, it does frighten me a little to think how deep the water must be, but I'm not worrying too much. I have my wand with me, after all. So for now, I'm just lying on my back on this comfortable lily pad looking up at the sky. So far I've seen shapes in the clouds that remind me of my friends' faces, although; that could just be me imagining them. I miss them all terribly, but this is my journey of healing and of forgetting about the losses and suffering of the war.

I must say that I am really enjoying this new perspective on the world. Everything seems new and exciting, and floating down the river so peacefully is already making my head feel clearer…

Of course, that could just be a baby Wrackspurt floating out of my ear…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date:<strong> 31__st__ October 1998 _

_**Location:** Gunnison National Forest, CO, USA_

I'm sorry I haven't been writing in you much, journal, but I've just been having so much fun exploring this forest. I've been here for quite a while, and although I haven't been writing in detail, I have come across many fascinating and colourful creatures here, which I've taken pictures of (with their permission, of course). I've also written notes about them on the back of each picture. If you don't mind I'd like to Spello-tape them in on the next blank page.

Now that I've made myself a little shelter out of some sticks and leaves, I have a free moment to write down what you've missed. I should probably start by telling you that we're in America now. I've always wanted to come here ever since reading '_Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them'_, and now that I am here it doesn't quite seem real. I don't know whether it's because this is just a new place or because I'm as small as a Bowtruckle, but I feel so inspired by this experience and this journey. Seeing these magical creatures up close just fascinates me, and for the first time in my life I think I can see myself doing this as a career. I feel like I understand the creatures, and they understand me (maybe with the exception of that rude stag beetle who shook me off his back when I started singing the Invisible Whooper Melody).

Oh! I've just realized what the date is today: October 31st. I must remember to owl Harry when I get chance to make sure he's all right. Maybe I'll send letters to the others too whilst I'm at it. I don't want them to get the impression I've just run away whilst they're all still coping with the aftermath of the war back at home. Who knows, maybe they'll let me know if Magizoology is something they think I'd be good at!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date:<strong> 9__th__ November 1998 _

_**Location:** Underground, somewhere in North America_

The weather has been turning nasty over the last few days; it's extremely windy and rainy, which I normally don't mind, but given my size I thought it was too dangerous to stay in the forest. It's a shame, really, but I could always visit again one day.

I managed to squeeze myself into a hole in the ground that a little worm had made, and have been down here for the last day or so. Although it's very toasty, I don't like being here. I feel restricted, and the darkness and damp smell just reminds me of my imprisonment at Malfoy Manor.

There are more creatures down here, though, and I've snapped pictures and made notes of them too (I'm afraid more Spello-tape is coming your way, journal). Most of them were very welcoming and friendly, but others weren't very nice - like the Jarvey. They're fascinating creatures that are capable of human speech, but it is in their nature to be blunt and rude. They also resemble giant ferrets, too, and with me being uncomfortable with down here anyway, the encounter with the Jarvey hasn't helped lessen the pain of the Malfoy Manor memory, since the creature just reminded me of Draco.

Oh well - I suppose this will just help the healing process a little bit more. Still… I hope I'm not down here for long.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date:<strong> 17__th__ November 1998 _

_**Location:** On the back of a swallow, somewhere in America_

The skies make me feel much happier than the ground. I feel so free up here, although I do seem incredibly high up – I hope I'm not tugging on the swallow's feathers too hard. I'm not really sure where to go next; there are so many options. I have been travelling for over a month, and although I miss everyone back home terribly, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to go back yet…

Sorry for trailing off mid-thought there, journal, but I think I just heard the Invisible Whooper Melody. I wonder if there are some of them flying near us! How exciting! Oops; I was just about to get my camera out to take a picture of an invisible thing - silly me! But their song… I can hear it. Maybe I'll sing along with them.

The swallow has landed in a tall evergreen tree to have a rest from all of the flying, and I can see what looks like a little figure who's about the same height as a shrunken-me further along the branch. It's _him _who has been whistling the Whooper Melody! I might introduce myself to him.

_A little later_

The other shrunken person is Rolf Scamander, Newt Scamander's grandson! As it turns out, he's been globetrotting these past few months looking for strange magical creatures just like I have. When I told him about my journey over the last few weeks, he didn't once call me 'loony' or 'insane'. In fact, he told me that I'm just as sane as he is, and whilst he may have been making a joke about the way we both chose to shrink ourselves, I take that as a huge compliment.

Meeting Rolf has given me confidence that maybe I'd make a good Magizoologist one day, so when I get home that is the first thing I'm going to look into. I feel like I've made peace with the war, and that I'll be able to get on with my life when I return to the UK.

But for now I'm going to carry on exploring the world for a little while longer. I hope you don't mind, journal, but Rolf would like to come along too.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading :D

For anyone interested here's the Thumbelina synopsis:

_"The tale opens with a beggar woman giving a peasant's wife a barleycorn in exchange for food. Once planted, a tiny girl, Thumbelina (Tommelise), emerges from its flower. _

_One night, Thumbelina, asleep in her walnut-shell cradle, is carried off by a toad who wants the miniature maiden as a bride for her son. With the help of friendly fish and a butterfly, Thumbelina escapes the toad and her son, and drifts on a lily pad until captured by a stag beetle. The insect discards her when his friends reject her company. Thumbelina tries to protect herself from the elements, but when winter comes, she is in desperate straits. She is finally given shelter by an old field mouse and tends her dwelling in gratitude._

_The mouse suggests Thumbelina marry her neighbor, a mole, but Thumbelina finds repulsive the prospect of being married to such a creature because he spent all his days underground and never saw the sun or sky. The field mouse keeps pushing Thumbelina into the marriage, saying the mole is a good match for her, and does not listen to her protests. At the last minute, Thumbelina escapes the situation by fleeing to a far land with a swallow she nursed back to health during the winter._

_In a sunny field of flowers, Thumbelina meets a tiny flower-fairy prince just her size and to her liking, and they wed. She receives a pair of wings to accompany her husband on his travels from flower to flower, and a new name, Maia."_


	15. ScorpiusAlbus

**A/N: **This one was a totally new pairing for me. I really wasn't sure about it at first, but now that I've written it I have to say I quite like it (not bad for being written at 1am either) :)

_Summary: Tired of being judged by his surname, Scorpius does everything in his power to seem emotionally detached from his father. He comes to regret this decision in the future when he discovers that the feeling he gets around Albus Potter, is one he actually _wants_ to express._

_Genre: Romance/Angst_

_Word count: 1,252_

You lovely people can skip to the story now

* * *

><p><strong><span>Written for:<span> QLFC rnd 13 (Harpies, Beater 2) **[Write a romance about Scorpius/Albus - happily, history, (poem) Love, What is Love by Robert Louis Stevenson]; **HP Chapter Comp **[DH, Nineteen Years Later - Next Gen]; **Hunger Games comp** [Claudius Templesmith - someone who doesn't show emotion]; **Disney comp **[Hook-Hand Thug - Scorpius]; **Pokemon Journey challenge **[fic 2]; **Chocolate Frog challenge **; **Represent that Character challenge **; **Fave House challenge **[smile]

* * *

><p><span><strong>This is Love<strong>

_Love - what is love? A great and aching heart;_

_Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair._

_Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare_

_To see love coming and see love depart._

- Robert Louis Stevenson

XXX

Love – what is love?

Not a day went by where Scorpius didn't ask himself this question. The amount of time he'd take out of his day to ponder the answer varied greatly; sometimes it was just a passing consideration, but then there were days where his homework would be left abandoned on the desk or at the foot of his bed. He'd sit silently, brooding for hours. Nevertheless, the question was always there in the back of his mind, having initially taken up residence not long after he started at Hogwarts.

Scorpius was familiar with the concept of love, but he didn't quite understand it. Well, _romantic_ love at least. He'd experienced love of the familial sort, since he had a close bond with both of his parents, but at the same time it didn't quite seem genuine to him. At Hogwarts at least, Scorpius felt that he could not express this love to other people.

After hugging his father goodbye on Platform 9 ¾ before his first year, children and parents alike looked at them with expressions of unease or disapproval. Scorpius never gave those people a second thought, but the stares and whispers only escalated upon arrival to the castle, making them almost impossible for him to ignore. After eavesdropping on a few of these hushed conversations in true, albeit necessary, Slytherin form, he quickly noticed that two words in particular never failed to come up:

Death Eater.

Fifteen year-old Scorpius sighed to himself as he stared blankly at a piece of parchment, which rested against his thighs as he leant against the cold wall of his dormitory. Only two words were written upon the sheet so far:

Scorpius Malfoy.

His own name had ended up becoming the thing that had prevented him from making friends here with any degree of ease. After introducing himself, people would automatically associate 'Malfoy' with 'Death Eater', given his recent ancestral history. Of course, Scorpius had been vaguely informed of the surrounding pressures and circumstances regarding his father's involvement in the dark association. He also knew of the struggle for redemption his father had endured, donating thousands of Galleons to renovate various establishments after the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998. He'd done all of that and so much more under an anonymous name for fear that nobody would even consider accepting his money if they saw the name 'Malfoy' on the cheque's signature.

Though Draco wasn't always the most emotionally available parent out there, he was determined not to bring Scorpius up in the same manner his own father had done when he was a boy. Scorpius admired him for that, for all of the things he tried to do to give him a loving, happy life. He loved his father, but of course, nobody else knew of this side to Draco. To everyone but Scorpius, the father he knew was all but non-existent, and all that remained was the Death Eater Draco had been when he was sixteen years old.

That was precisely why Scorpius refused to openly admit that he harboured any amount of love for his father. He figured that if he seemed emotionally detached from the one-time follower of You-Know-Who, then people would start treating him differently. Or at least, people would stop judging him without even getting to know him first.

Much to Scorpius' surprise, it had worked. After the first awkward month of school in his first year, his classmates seemed to warm to him and actually greeted him with a smile if they were paired with him in a lesson. Scorpius remembered feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders at that point, and soon he became more confident in himself. He felt happy being treated as his own person instead of just being the Death Eater's son. And because of this, emotionally detaching himself started to become a bit of a habit.

Scorpius had practiced it so much over the years that he was pretty much an expert by this point. It was just a shame that now, in his fifth year, the ploy of his eleven year-old self had come back around to bite him in the arse.

The blond boy felt his heart sink, and then speed up far too quickly when the sound of footsteps drew him out from his thoughts, and Albus appeared in the doorway. Some might think it ironic that the person he'd connected with the most was one of Harry Potter's sons, but Scorpius was able to see the positive side of it. It had been his unexpected friendship with Albus that had helped him form bonds with some of the other students, and for that, Scorpius would be eternally grateful.

If only he was able to just tell him that…

"Hey, quit doing that or you're going to make yourself bleed," Albus interrupted Scorpius' train of thought again. The dark-haired boy gestured to the other's face, and only then did Scorpius realise he'd been chewing on his lip.

"Dammit," he sighed, wiping his mouth. "Must've picked that up from Rose."

Albus' laugh made Scorpius' insides flutter. He swallowed hard. Befriending The Boy Who Lived's son was one thing, but Scorpius had never anticipated those feelings of friendship to develop into something more… something _much_ more.

"So, how's your Charms essay going?" Albus continued, walking over to Scorpius' bed. He leaned over to look at the parchment propped up on the blond's thighs, dark and messy hair falling in front of his face. "'Scorpius Malfoy'," Albus read the words upside down. He expelled an amused breath, and looked up, brilliant green eyes meeting slate grey. "Top marks for knowing your name," he grinned.

"Shut up," Scorpius responded stoically. Being this close to Albus… looking at him like that… he really didn't know what to do. His heart was thumping like the hooves of a charging Hippogriff and his palms were growing sweaty. Should he laugh? Smile? He felt like he ought to do both, but because of his own stupid self-programming, he couldn't bring himself to do either. He was so used to shutting off his emotions that it seemed unnatural to suddenly do so now.

"What's the matter?" Albus asked sincerely when Scorpius looked away, breaking the eye contact that had caused any sense of time to be lost on both of them.

Scorpius could barely make himself look at Albus again. He felt awful, like some kind of unfeeling heartless vessel. He knew he wasn't those things, though; he could laugh and joke with his friends without a second thought, but being with Albus was different. Scorpius _felt _different within himself around him. The feeling wasn't negative by any means, just unfamiliar.

"Scorp?" The blond winced, sensing the worry in Albus' voice. He slowly met those green eyes again, and attempted to find the words to explain. After an awkward few moments of doing what must like silent impression of a gulping plimpy, Scorpius was completely taken aback when Albus moved, and closed the small space between them. Scorpius barely had time to react before Albus' lips gently covered his own.

Scorpius remained unresponsive at first; he was completely frozen with shock. But then he began to wonder if on some level, Albus understood. But how could he possibly? Unless… Scorpius smiled before he happily returned Albus' kiss. It was all so simple.

Another weight lifted from his shoulders as Scorpius finally found the answer to the question that had haunted him for years.

Love – _this_ is love.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading :)


	16. FredGeorge

**A/N: **Merlin, I feel like I haven't been on ff net in forever. Here's me (hopefully) making a comeback. To those of you who have requested pairings, I'll get right on that ASAP. To those of you who follow my MC The System, I promise you I'm now making a real effort to get chapter 16 finished after a month of being too preoccupied and stressed with uni work (sorry x amilliontimes).

So this is pretty George Weasley-centric. My first attempt at writing him so I hope it's okay :)

_Genre: _Family/Angst

_Word count:_ 1762

_Summary:_ Months after the war, George still struggles to come to terms with Fred's death. "You get your first kiss first _and_ you get to die first?" he said to the mirror, sniffing back tears but unable to hold back a melancholic grin. "Jammy git."

* * *

><p>[You can skip to the story now]<p>

**Written for:**** QLFC Finals rnd 1 **[**Harpies, Beater 2: **"It was gross at the beginning, but you kind of get used to it" - tear - aquamarine - George Augustus Moore quote (stated below the title)]; **HP Chapter comp **[PoA - Mauarders Map - write about the Weasley twins]; **Hunger Games comp **[Rue - a character whose death saddened you]; **Disney comp **[Sven - write about twins]; **Pokemon **[fic 3]; **Chocolate Frog** ; **Represent that character**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Mirrors<span>**

_"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it."_ George Augustus Moore, The Brook Kerith

XXX

"George! Breakfast is ready!" Molly Weasley's voice called up the stairs of Shell Cottage.

"Yes, come down 'ere soon or else eet will get cold!" Fleur chimed in. George could just make out the sound of a brief muffled exchange before the French girl added, "Or Bill says zat 'e will eat eet for you!"

A faint smile passed George's lips as he lay in bed. He rolled onto his left side and opened his mouth with the intent of making some kind of joking remark to Fred about how their brother must be hungry like a wolf, but both George's amusement and smile faded when he saw no bed on the other side of the room.

Fred wasn't there.

George was alone.

He mentally kicked himself for forgetting. Again. Months had passed since… the war, and yet, George felt like pretty much the entire family was moving on faster than he was. Well, perhaps 'moving on' was the wrong phrase for it; everyone was still devastated about losing Fred, but nevertheless George couldn't help but feel like he was being left behind; coping worse than everyone else.

He couldn't even look in a mirror without mistaking his own reflection for that of his twin. In fact, Ginny had once found him kneeling on the floor in front of one, crying and talking to his reflection as if it _were_ Fred. George never saw her there, but the next day he had woken to see that every mirror in the house had been covered up. Ginny never directly told him that it had been her doing, but by the small concerned glances she'd shoot his way whenever he approached a mirror, George figured it out pretty quickly.

He'd been filled to burst with gratitude and love for his little sister after making this discovery, and had silently thanked her by giving her the biggest hug he could physically manage. Looking back on that now, George felt his stomach twist in knots. He realised that the exaggeration of his hug must have been a subconscious impulse for him to try and compensate for Fred's absence…

When they were children, he and Fred used to hug Ginny together, squashing her between them in the process. As they grew older it became more of an act of endearment than mischief, and perhaps it had been the unfamiliar absence of one twin in that hug that had made tears spring into Ginny's eyes. She never cried in front of George, but he could tell she'd been desperately and stubbornly fighting back tears after she bade him goodnight and scurried away.

George couldn't deny that it felt strange on his part too, but he found that on that occasion, he wasn't as upset as Ginny. She had never really known anything else other than being hugged by both twins at the same time, so it was understandably a shock to her when it had just been one of them. For George, though, hugging someone without Fred was no new thing.

Contrary to what most people assumed, he and Fred hadn't done _everything_ together. It would have been impossible, in fact, for them to do so; especially when it came to 'first times'. Even for twins, the chance of experiencing something for the first time simultaneously was very slim. Sometimes George beat Fred to the punch with experiencing something new; sometimes Fred beat him. Though it did feel unfair at times, they would always tell each other what their new experience was like, so the other didn't feel too left out. It was difficult to explain, but George felt that, as twins, he and Fred were part of the same person, two halves of the same whole. Consequently, it always felt imbalanced whenever one of them did something before the other, so they always shared.

It'd been Fred who experienced what some may think of as a landmark 'first time' before George. Upon hearing that Fred had had his first kiss, George remembered feeling a bizarre sense of defeat, as if he'd been unknowingly competitive about the whole thing all along. But at the same time, he felt relieved, thinking that Fred could have made the amateur mistakes on behalf of them both, and fill George in on what it was like. If there was anything George had wanted to be prepared for, it was making a quick get-away from the scene of a risky prank, and kissing a girl for the first time.

Unfortunately for him, Fred's feedback had been vague and rather unhelpful. When asked by Lee Jordan if it was gross at all, he replied:

"It _was_ gross at the beginning, but you kind of get used to it."

'_Gross at the beginning'_? '_Kind of_ get used to it?' Suffice it to say, George had prioritised pranks and tomfoolery over girls for a long time after those lukewarm sentiments.

"GEORGE!"

Molly bellowed up the stairs, interrupting George's train of thought. He blinked, clearing his glazed-over eyes before rubbing them with the heel of his palms, wiping away a tear or two he did not recall shedding in the process.

"Yeah, Mum. I'm coming!" George called back half-heartedly. It always did something strange to his gut, hearing his mum call only his name. Usually, she'd say "Fred and George!" or "Boys!" Now he was just 'George', and it made him feel so isolated and incomplete.

Finally conceding that he couldn't hide away in his room forever, George hauled himself out of bed before sloping into the hallway and down the stairs, all the while keeping his eyes firmly planted downwards. As sweet as Ginny's gesture with the mirrors had been, George felt incredibly selfish inconveniencing the rest of his family in such a way. Plus, with The Burrow still in disarray, he didn't think it was especially nice to repay Fleur's kindness and patronage by preventing her from looking at herself. The witch would probably have a mental breakdown eventually, so George practically demanded that all of the mirrors be uncovered again.

Looking at the floor whenever he left his room was the only way George's willpower could hold out, as walking normally would only allow the reflective glass to beckon to his peripheral vision, coaxing him to look in one and come face to face with a figure he'd mistake to be Fred.

"Here 'e is," Ron said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs upon seeing his brother appear in the doorway.

Everyone at the table looked up. George smiled vaguely as to address the whole room, and watched the way his mother's eyes surreptitiously travelled up, hovering momentarily above his head before they met his.

George couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed: around the time of the 'uncovering of the mirrors', he'd found the perfect coping mechanism in the form of some hair dye he found in his Dad's collection of Muggle jumble. He reasoned that if he didn't have the famous Weasley red locks, then he'd no longer see Fred in the mirrors. The only downside to his plan was that the dye turned out to be a garish aquamarine colour. Molly had received quite a shock the next morning, and heavily persuaded George to use magic to make the colour slightly less… outrageous. The only issue was that George hadn't really used that much magic since Fred died. After attempting and failing to produce a Patronus, he'd sort of become reluctant to use it.

"Come and have something to eat, dear. Grab what you want and I can warm it up for you," Molly smiled kindly, having now accepted that the more outrageous George's hair colour was, the less like himself (and Fred) he looked.

"Cheers, Mum," George replied, walking over to the table and sitting down in between Ginny and Bill. Even something as simple as this, eating a meal with his family, felt so wrong now that Fred was not sitting beside him.

Suddenly, he felt his appetite disappear, and George forced down a few mouthfuls of his breakfast before excusing himself from the table. He really didn't want food, but he knew everyone would start to worry about him if he refused to eat, and he didn't want to cause anyone anymore stress than they were already dealing with.

After climbing the stairs, George set about wandering around the cottage. He did that a lot now: just wandered, as if he was searching for something. The truth was that he felt incredibly lost these days, but he'd searched high and low for anything that could make him feel happy and together again and nothing had really helped fill the void he felt inside himself. Not entirely, anyway. His family was the thing that was keeping him from completely falling apart.

With his mind preoccupied with what felt like a million thoughts, George's body moved of its own accord, turning into his room and walking to the far side, where a large rectangular mirror stood. This was the only mirror in Shell Cottage that was still covered, and George absently reached out and took hold of the sheet. Before his conscious mind could engage again, he pulled it off, revealing the glass of the mirror.

George blinked, focusing back on reality. He stared at his reflection, noticing immediately that the hair dye had almost completely faded. He then looked at the left side of his head, where an ear used to be. This was the only thing that separated him from Fred, so he continued to look there. The more he focused on that spot, however; the more his mind started to play tricks on him. He started to imagine an ear that shouldn't be there in the reflected image, and soon, in his mind's eye, Fred was standing before him, grinning mischievously.

"No," George shook his head, snapping himself out of it. He watched the smile fade from the reflection too, and that's when he realised that after all this time avoiding mirrors, they were just what he had needed all along. As painful as it was being reminded of Fred in such a real way, George noted that whilst he looked at the reflection, he no longer felt lost or incomplete.

"You get your first kiss first _and_ you get to die first?" he said to the mirror, sniffing back tears but unable to hold back a melancholic grin. "Jammy git."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought :D


	17. TeddyVictoire

**A/N: **I'm ashamed that I've been on ffn for over a year and have only just written a TeddyVictoire fic. *shakes head* But here it is and I hope you all enjoy it :D

Thank you so much to Lizzie (TheNextFolchart) for being an amazing beta!

* * *

><p>Word count: 2,360<p>

Written for the **QLFC Semi Finals **[**Harpies Beater 2:** respite - overwrite - "It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone." ― Marilyn Monroe]

* * *

><p><strong><span>Finding His Place<span>**

The stars had never shone brighter.

The moon was a gleaming halo against the endless inky backdrop that was the sky, and the night had truly never looked more beautiful.

Victoire drew back from the eyepiece of the telescope, her eyes tired from such extensive studying. She rubbed them to focus, and was surprised to feel the dampness of tears there. She hadn't even realised she'd been crying.

Victoire sighed to herself, and began rummaging through her schoolbag, which was practically fit to burst with equipment and textbooks. After a while she successfully retrieved a tissue. It was already slightly crumped from a previous use, but Victoire conceded that it would have to do.

Swivelling on her stool, she turned her attention back to the night sky (minus the telescope) and dabbed at her eyes absently. Her Astronomy essay lay forgotten at her feet; the view in front of her was too captivating for Victoire to look away from. She lost herself in a trance, barely noticing the faint sound of footsteps ascending the stairs behind her.

Teddy Lupin stopped in his tracks when he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, a small smile playing upon his lips. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the way his heart sped up whenever he looked at Victoire, even if it _was_ just the back of her head. Her hair fell loosely around her waist, illuminated by the moonlight in such a way that the tones of silver it naturally carried were more pronounced than ever. The sight was beautiful - enchanting almost - and oddly calming.

Teddy couldn't understand exactly what it was about Victoire, but even before they'd started dating she'd had the ability to overwrite any of his negative thoughts or feelings. Standing behind her now, he felt the stress he'd been carrying with him all day begin to evaporate.

On this day in particular, Victoire was the only person Teddy wanted to be with.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," he whispered in her ear, having successfully traversed the room without stumbling or tripping over his own feet.

"Oh!" Victoire gasped, jumping at Teddy's uncharacteristically stealthy arrival. She snapped out of her reverie and looked up at him, her 'o'-shaped mouth instantly changing into a wide smile. "Hi," she said. "And thank you."

Teddy just smiled as he leaned in to kiss Victoire's cheek and wrap her in a hug. She rose to her feet and returned his embrace tightly, silently thanking him again: this time, for not making a big song-and-dance about her turning a year older.

Ever since she started at Hogwarts, she'd come to learn the true significance of May the Second. It was always a quiet day around the castle; the mood was often sombre and afternoon classes were cancelled. It was a day of remembrance, and Victoire hated the idea of being the centre of attention for such an occasion. She always made a habit of celebrating properly on the closest weekend with her friends, but she had always seen Teddy on her actual birthday.

"You're welcome," Teddy murmured against Victoire's neck. The warmth of his breath tickled her skin, sending a shiver all the way down her spine and into her toes.

Unbeknownst to Victoire, Teddy's words were a response to her _un_spoken words of thanks: he knew very well how she felt about her birthday, and therefore knew what she was thinking. Hell, he just knew Victoire very well in general. At least… he _hoped _he did. Teddy didn't much want to peruse the notion that he'd acquired a sudden aptitude for Divination as an explanation for his instinctive display of telepathy just now.

Then again, Teddy didn't think he'd be able to think about that even if he tried, given his sudden awareness of the steady beating of Victoire's heart against his chest. Teddy's cheeks grew warm as he wondered if she could feel his heart too, suddenly conscious of how fast it was beating.

"I'm so happy you're here." Victoire pulled back then, dropping an inch or two in height as she came down off her tiptoes.

"Me too, Vic." Teddy said a little breathlessly; his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his throat. Looking into Victoire's shining blue eyes, he was a little surprised at how true those words actually were. After all, there was a time when he hadn't wanted to see anybody at all.

* * *

><p>Until Victoire's early years at Hogwarts, May the Second was Teddy Lupin's annual 'avoid-all-humans-like-Dragonpox' day. The only person he'd ever consider contacting was his godfather - arguably the only person who understood how it felt to grow up without his parents.<p>

Teddy used to wander the castle grounds, eventually winding up at the Astronomy Tower or in some secluded spot by the lake where it was unlikely he'd be disturbed. While most students spent their afternoon off in Hogsmeade, catching up with homework or sleeping, Teddy would sit in his chosen place until night fell, completely lost in his thoughts. It amazed him even to this day how he could spend so much time thinking about two people he didn't even know, but that's what he did.

When it came to the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Teddy had firmly believed that it was much better that he be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone else. Although he had some great friends at school, none of them could offer him more than empty words of sympathy. It was on this day when Teddy felt that he didn't truly belong. He was a pariah of sorts.

Lonely.

Lost.

He had never expected anybody to be able to soothe the painful ache in his heart, or even put a genuine smile on his face, whenever this day rolled around, but he'd certainly been proven wrong in his fourth year at Hogwarts.

He'd been skimming stones across the surface of the lake, absently watching the rippling reflections of the stars in the inky water, when he heard the sound of footsteps. Looking up, he saw a girl with blonde hair walking towards him. Her face was masked in the shadows, so he didn't recognise her immediately. Teddy instinctively drew his knees up to his chest and bowed his head; in an attempt to seem as unapproachable as possible.

The girl's head had also been bowed when he saw her, so Teddy had hoped she'd pass him by. His heart sank a little when he heard a female voice a minute or so later.

"Teddy?"

Feeling quite reluctant to engage in conversation, Teddy looked up wearily. His fringe had fallen in front of his eyes, but he recognised the girl immediately.

"Hey Vicky," he said in a hoarse voice. His tone was neutral – stoic even – but Teddy surprised even himself by the playful intention and weak smile he greeted her with.

Victoire rolled her eyes, swinging her bag on her shoulder and lightly hitting his back with it. "I hate it when you call me that."

"I know," Teddy, responded, a slight smirk of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Victoire laughed, and Teddy turned his attention to the sky, which was peppered with twinkling stars. His smile faded, leaving Victoire to watch his glassy eyes slowly begin to glaze over. Even later, Teddy didn't understand why she decided to sit down beside him instead of walking away and leaving him alone to brood.

He opened his mouth to ask her to leave, but instead, Teddy found himself turning to the blonde girl and saying, "I really miss them, Vic."

Victoire's eyebrows knitted, and her lips parted in concern that Teddy would not have accepted from anyone else. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, shocked that he had actually opened up to someone. Usually so guarded around the subject of his parents, Teddy found that the words continued to spill out of his mouth. "Sounds silly, doesn't it – missing people I've never even met?"

Victoire regarded him steadily for a while. "You shouldn't be here on your own when you're upset."

"And you shouldn't be sat here with mopey old me on your birthday." Teddy smiled weakly at her, the tears in his eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

"Teddy…" Victoire gazed at him sadly, at a loss of what she could possibly say to comfort him.

The older boy just regarded her with glazed over eyes. "Go on and celebrate, Vic. I'll be fine."

Victoire shook her head. "I don't really like my birthday being today," she said. "If you really want me to leave I'll probably just go up to my dorm and finish my Potions essay or something."

"You can't be on your own on your birthday," Teddy said.

"And you can't be on your own when you're upset," Victoire countered with an arch of an eyebrow.

Teddy chuckled softly. "I don't suppose I can argue with that," he said. "Especially coming from the newly teenage birthday girl," he added, bumping Victoire with his shoulder.

"No you can't," Victoire teased, folding her arms. "So there." she stuck out her tongue.

For some reason, that made Teddy laugh - _really_ laugh, which was an incredible feeling having felt so low all day. And all things considered, he thought being with Victoire on her birthday would be good for him; it was something positive to focus on.

So there they stayed, sat by the lake, talking about anything and everything. Although he'd been reluctant to let her stay at first, Teddy quickly realised that being with Victoire provided some respite from his dejection. He hadn't felt anything negative at all since she made him laugh. Of course thoughts of his parents were still there in the back of his mind, but with Victoire around, that gut-wrenching pain in his heart was nothing more than a memory.

* * *

><p>"Teddy?" Victoire frowned.<p>

Teddy blinked to focus back on the present day, and realised he'd been blankly staring at her for quite some time.

"Vic…" He began his umpteenth attempt to tell her how he felt - how grateful he was for having her by his side that first May the Second, and every May the Second since - but as usual, the words evaded him. His voice trailed away when he looked at the witch in front of him. "… Have you been crying?" he asked, mirroring her expression and tucking a long blonde strand of hair behind Victoire's ear.

She immediately shook back into place, making Teddy smile. "No," she answered abruptly, blushing when Teddy sceptically arched an eyebrow at her. "I mean… maybe," she looked at the floor and rolled the crumpled tissue in her fist.

Teddy followed her gaze downwards. He squinted when something on the floor caught his eye. "Have you been doing Astronomy homework on your birthday?" he asked, eyeing Victoire's essay.

"You say that like you didn't do the exact same thing a few months ago, Edward Lupin." Victoire met his gaze again, her eyes twinkling with humour. "I didn't really plan to, but looking up at the stars… it just reminded me I needed to finish it, I guess."

Teddy said nothing; Victoire's words guided his eyes to the shining orbs in the sky. "They're really bright tonight," he commented. "Don't you think?"

"I've heard a lot of people saying that today," Victoire said, resting her head on his shoulder. "At first I thought it was some figure of speech – because of what today is and everything – but then I came up here and saw how bright they really are…" Her voice trailed away as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Victoire paused as she discreetly used her hidden tissue to wipe them away. "… It just made me wonder if it's not a coincidence. It's like _they _– all the people who died in the war - are looking down on us."

Saying it out loud sounded terribly cheesy, and Victoire couldn't help but cringe a little.

Teddy focused on the two brightest stars he could see, and he immediately thought of his parents. "Yeah," he sniffed. "I think you're right."

Victoire snuggled her head tighter into him, and Teddy wrapped his arms around her while they looked at the stars together.

With a shock, Teddy realised that he no longer felt lost.

He breathed in the scent of her soft hair, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as he slowly came to terms with this discovery and the implications behind it. For so many years he'd been struggling to voice his feelings or express his gratitude to her, but now it all seemed so easy, and he didn't know why he hadn't seen it before.

"I love you, Victoire."

The words were whispered so softly out loud but as he said them, the storm clouds in his head cleared, and everything fell into place.

Teddy had been talking to himself more than to Victoire - and very quietly at that. He hoped to pluck up the courage to confess his love to her one day, but in that moment those words had been intended for his ears alone.

Perhaps this was why he was so taken aback to hear what Victoire said next:

"I love you, Teddy."

Like Teddy's had been, her voice was only a small whisper, as if she was thinking aloud to herself. Teddy had no idea if she had actually heard him or if this was just a strange coincidence. Whatever the case, it certainly didn't change how happy Teddy felt hearing Victoire say those words, whether she'd intended him to hear or not.

Still looking at the two brightest stars in the sky, Teddy felt a tear run down his cheek. It was not one of sadness, bereavement or loneliness, but one of utter elation that he'd finally found his place in the world. This place was no fixed point that could be plotted on a map; it was wherever Victoire was.

Holding her in his arms now, Teddy felt at home. He knew that his was where he belonged.

This was where he should be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you so much for reading, everyone :D Comments are always appreciated!


	18. TheoDaphne

**A/N: **This is something a little different. It may not be something everyone will be able to relate to or even understand, but this is based off something very personal to me: I've been struggling with social anxiety for the past few years, and I hope this will open some eyes. If not, that's okay - I just needed to get my feelings out on the matter.

On a happier note, I adore this pairing (who I'm calling NottGrass) and this is the first time I'm writing it. Hoping to write something fluffier for them in the future.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><span>Written for:<span>** Hogwarts Open Day Competition **[Divination - third year - trio era - 100-1000 words] ; **LUSH Product challenge **[Avo Bath: green, face the day, dazzling, choice, morning]

Word count: 1000 exactly. (phew)

* * *

><p><span><strong>Unknown<strong>

_Theo/Daphne_

He sat on the stone window ledge, hunched over the Alchemy text book that rested against his thighs. The light filtering into the room illuminated the pages of his book with dancing ripples of blues and greens.

(Did anybody even know he was here?)

His body remained still, his face unreadable as he looked up from his book, and scanned the common room in his peripheral vision.

Nobody was even looking at him.

(Nobody was _ever_ looking at him).

_Figures._

He returned his attention to the book, but he'd lost all concentration. He scraped his teeth against the patch of skin below his bottom lip; his eyes were forcibly glued to the page to prevent them wandering.

(Nobody was ever looking at him, and yet not a second went by when he didn't feel like he was being watched).

His restraint lasted for all of five minutes until he looked out of the corner of his eye once more. This time he did a double take, leaving his surreptitious approach broken and his cover blown. Someone was looking at him.

_Daphne_ was looking at him.

Her face was as difficult to read as any other Slytherin's, and this made him all the more nervous. A thousand different possibilities ran through his mind, each one more horrible than the last. Seeing that she was sat with the other sixth years didn't ease his nerves any: they were probably laughing at him.

Theo felt his palms grow hot, and he subconsciously ran a hand through his floppy hair.

(He was the loner).

(He was 'the weird one').

(He was 'the quiet one'.)

He was... _unknown_ to them.

* * *

><p>Theo was looking at her across the room. Their eyes had met completely by chance; she'd only glanced up from her magazine for only a second. Blue and green light illuminated the left side of his face and bridge of his nose, leaving the right side shrouded in a deep blue shadow that accentuated his pinched cheekbones, and angular contours of his skinny limbs.<p>

He'd always been the quiet one of their year group, and aloof to say the least. And yet, he had never quite emitted that mysterious bad-boy vibe to her. He didn't seem necessarily frightened or nervous either, despite his rabbit-in-the-headlight features. No, Theo just seemed… unfriendly.

Daphne never had any idea what he was thinking. She couldn't tell if it was a trick of the shadows but his eyes looked narrowed, and his jaw was clenched as he looked at her. His expression couldn't be described as a scowl, but it wasn't stoic either.

Was he misunderstood, or just deliberately detached?

(She was the only one to ever question this.)

* * *

><p>Theo knew what they must be thinking: "<em>Nott's so anti-social. No wonder he hasn't got any real friends…"<em>

He screwed up his face as a sudden urge to yell or cry welled up inside him. How he wished he could tell those ignorant idiots that the way he was wasn't something he was doing by choice. In fact, all he wanted was to fit in and have friends; be like a _normal_ teenager. He was sick to the stomach of feeling so isolated and lonely, and to some degree yes, he distanced himself... but _all_ Slytherins did that to avoid getting hurt.

Theo just wanted to avoid it more than most.

Every morning he'd wake up having to mentally steel himself to drag himself out of bed and face the day. Alone, he felt calm, but as soon as he stepped into the public eye, his mind was filled with thoughts of all the hateful things his peers could be saying or thinking about him as he walked past. But despite how much he wanted to explain this to the other sixth years, he just couldn't bring himself to strike up the conversation.

His life was a vicious circle he could not break out alone.

(But he _was _alone).

Theo jumped up from his seat, unable to stand another second of feeling so exposed. He slammed his book shut and clutched it tightly to his chest as he headed quickly towards the safety of his dormitory. He just wanted his mind to shut up; wanted the feeling of so many eyes on him to stop.

A voice called out to him before he could leave.

"Hey, Nott!"

Theo gulped, and turned around slowly as his heart thumped madly in his chest. His throat went dry when he saw Daphne looking at him. She had been the object of his affections for quite some time now, and that certainly didn't help his already uncontrollable nerves.

"Yeah?" he asked tentatively, trying not to stare into her dazzling green eyes for too long.

"Do you want to join us?"

Theo wasn't blind to the way Draco, Pansy and Blaise shuffled uncomfortably in their seats and exchanged dubious expressions, but since Daphne was trying to make an effort, he knew he'd be an idiot to turn her down. Besides, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have no idea what was going on, so that was three out of six people who wouldn't be judging him.

"Sure," he said, giving a small smile before walking over to the group.

It was a little intimidating to say the least. Theo didn't contribute much to the conversation, nor did he feel particularly comfortable, but he laughed, smiled and nodded where appropriate, and hoped that meant he wasn't completely beyond help. It was baby steps, but it was enough to calm some of his doubts. And for that he was beyond grateful to Daphne.

She still wasn't sure exactly what to make of him or why he behaved like he did, but even though he still came across as awkward and unsure of himself when he was around them, he did seem genuinely friendly.

She wasn't sure exactly why she did it, but she was glad she gave him a chance.

It seemed Theo Nott was pretty misunderstood after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading; I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)


End file.
